Prince Charming
by MiniMinou
Summary: Once upon a time, a prince was born. Blessed by a fairy godmother with the twin gifts of charm and beauty, he was beloved by all the people of his kingdom. He hated every moment of it. So, as sane people do, he summoned a spirit of misfortune to turn himself into a cat. A Fairytale AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue _  
_**

 _Once upon a time, a prince was born._

 _The fair and wise King, heartbroken by his Queen's sacrifice, called for the kingdom to pay tribute to his son, so that all might marvel at her last gift to the world. Yet even three days and three nights of festivity were not enough to lift the good King's grief._

 _But they were enough to draw the attention of a fairy._

 _She was a spirit of luck and good fortune, lured by dance and song and revelry. Curiosity compelled her to find out what would inspire such splendor, and so she snuck her way into the palace. Fluttering above the princeling's crib, she cooed at his beauty, inherited from the Queen. Yet then she noticed the King, weeping quietly as he gazed upon his son._

"Good King Gabriel, why do you weep?

Do you not see the celebration in the street?"

"My love is gone, and my heart is filled with sorrow.

Leave me, spirit, for there is no tomorrow."

 _The kind fairy was touched by the depth of the King's pain and decided that he needed her aid._

"Look upon the prince, for your love lives on,

To him I'll give a blessing, so that he grows strong."

 _Her magic enveloped the babe, nurturing the seeds of virtues already found within._

 _And never was there a prince more handsome, more charming or more beloved than Prince Adrien._

* * *

Tikki cried out in agony as the human tore at the petals in her hair, dragging her into the throne room. Magic brimmed at her fingertips, bright red sparks trailing behind her, but it did not touch the great brute of a soldier. Her magic was meant to aid, never to harm.

A pale man sat on the throne elevated several steps above the rest of the great hall, a crown of abhorrent metal resting on his fair hair. Iron burned a fae's skin, and she was no exception – a weakness the soldier used to his advantage as his sword's blade hovered less than an inch above her exposed throat.

"Bow before your king."

The king's voice was neither commanding nor gentle. It just was. He said it with no more passion than one might use to remark upon the weather.

"You are no king of mine, human!"

"Do you not stand upon my kingdom's ground? Do you not breathe my kingdom's air? That makes you mine to command."

"I walked this ground and breathed this air long before your kingdom came to be." She raised her chin, luminous black eyes shining. "You are as fleeting as an insect and I would sooner bow to a ladybug than to you."

The blade pressed down, and her red skin sizzled.

But the king raised his hand. "Sir Gerilla, enough." An icy gaze swept over her, and she shivered, understanding that she had not been spared the pain out of mercy. "It's not her bow I want, so let's not waste time on it."

"…what do you want, then?"

He leaned back, lounging on his throne. "Nothing you wouldn't give freely. In fact, I've heard you've been handing this gift of yours to all manner of subjects in my kingdom. The beauty of sunshine, voices like song, hearts of valor, wasted on peasants." King Gabriel paused and then he smiled. That, too, was cold and empty. "I ask that you bless my son."

Tikki grew still, panting from the pain of iron still lingering on her skin.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

She licked her lips. "What would you have me give him?"

"Good health. A strong mind. A bold heart. Things I imagine all fathers want in their son."

"I give but one blessing."

The king motioned for his soldier. The blade pressed against her neck once more. "Then might I suggest an exception? He is a prince, after all."

Her wings fluttered as she writhed to get away from the accursed iron. "Fine," she spat. One blessing or three, it mattered not at this point. Never had anyone dared touch her like this! She was Lady Luck, even humans respected that. Misfortune would find this man soon enough to extract its retribution for the pain inflicted on her. "Where is he?"

The king rose from his throne and beckoned her to follow. Together, they walked through halls of splendor, narrow corridors decorated by the finest artists, windows covered with drapes of finest silk, until they stood in front of a small crib, carved in the form of a warhorse.

"My son." For the first time, emotion touched the man's voice. Pride.

Insect wings fluttering, Tikki drifted closer to be able to see the little one.

Her breath left her as horror clutched her heart. Ambition. Power. War.

That child was a mage.

No, more than a mere mage. This was the kind of powerful warlock born only once a generation. Tikki's inhuman gaze swiveled to the king. Born to this man? He didn't have a drop of magic in him. The lineage had to have gone through the mother.

"Well?" Cold eyes narrowed. "Do it, fae."

A powerful warlock raised by _this_ cruel man to one day take the throne.

As it always did when faced with a newborn life, Tikki's mind filled with visions of their future. It was how she picked her blessings, to aid with whatever would be the greatest challenge of their lives.

The boy's fate was to become a scourge upon the world.

Ambition instilled by a ruthless father in a heart far too eager to please, born with enough power to bring the neighboring kingdoms to their knees – this boy was destined to be a conqueror, destruction trailing in his wake.

"I'm thinking," she said, stalling. "Blessings are not easily bestowed. They must fit."

Impatience made the king's lips thin.

"But you are right."

"Oh?" An arched eyebrow.

"A prince like this deserves more than one gift to celebrate the occasion of his birth."

She reached for the babe, trailing one finger along his small jaw. The would-be-tyrant gurgled happily.

"What's his name?"

"Adrien. Prince Adrien Agreste. First of his name."

"Prince Adrien," Tikki whispered, tasting the power in the words, and the palm of her hand glowed bright. "You've no need of health and strength, for you have those aplenty."

She reached for the boy's budding magic and entwined it with hers.

"To you I bestow the twin gifts of beauty and charm. Women will want you, and men will want to be you, enemies and allies alike. Your voice will be as stirring and rousing as song. When you speak, your soldiers will be inspired to march into battle, and your subjects eager to carry out your will. All the glories of this world shall be yours."

And then, as the king watched with the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, she planted the seed of kindness in the boy's heart.

* * *

"General, shall we prepare the officer's tent for negotiation?"

Lord Bourgeoise lowered the looking glass, a frown on his face as the figure in the distance grew small and far away once more.

What was that fool boy doing?

"Damn you, Gabriel," he muttered. _You are sending your son to die._ He'd always known that the king, whose little empire sat to the north of his home's borders, was a ruthless man.

But to not only declare war on his neighbors on the day his successor grew of age, putting the boy in charge of his armies, and sending him off to fight Gabriel's battles for him – no, to top it off, the boy wasn't even properly trained. Was he trying to murder his firstborn? Did King Gabriel have some bastard he'd rather have in the line of succession, just waiting to be legitimized?

Sending an envoy before the battle began to broker for peace was standard procedure, but the prince had broken rank with his army by himself, a white warhorse carrying him across the plain to meet his enemy. He'd taken no escort to protect him, easy prey confidently riding into a pit of vipers.

Lord Bourgeoise sighed.

Hopefully, the princeling would be taken alive, and the battle would end swiftly. In a way, it was a relief – the enemy was unlikely to follow a sophisticated strategy.

And yet…

He rubbed his shoulder, where his armor had deflected a heavy blow from one of his own spies. The man whose loyalty he'd thought assured had screamed that the enemy they faced could not – nay, _should_ not be defeated.

Lord Bourgeoise pushed the unease away. That Raincomprix had turned on him was an unpleasant surprise, but King Gabriel was well-known for the riches of his realm. Stronger men had betrayed their lieges for gold.

The boy scarcely even deserved to be called a man yet. That he had coaxed a spy away from their side did not make him a force to be reckoned with.

And the spies' screams that they, too, would soon see the light and serve Prince Adrien had just been the frantic ramblings of a doomed man. In a way, to see his once faithful servant lose his nerve when faced with a death sentence had been even more disappointing than his betrayal.

Should death come for him on the battlefield today, General Bourgeoise was prepared to meet it with dignity.

The white horse was so close now that he could hear hoofbeats, so the Lord spurred his own mount to greet his adversary. It was unfortunate that the boy would most likely die soon. From all accounts, he was a kind and charming young man, utterly unlike his father.

Even his daughter Chloe, not easily impressed, had shown an interest in meeting him, so high did the few nobles who had met him sing his praises. In another lifetime, the General might have offered the prince his beloved daughter's hand in marriage, had she shown herself similarly charmed. It would have been a great alliance between two mighty Houses.

But war was not just, taking the innocent and guilty alike, snuffing out hopes for their future.

His heavy boots hit the ground with a thud as he dismounted, glorious armor weighing heavily on him as he stood. He'd scarcely felt it when he'd been a young man, but there was a reason he no longer fought on the front lines.

Prince Adrien swung himself off his steed, too, swiftly and gracefully.

He wore no armor at all, only leathers and a white cloak pulled over his face. Fool boy. The General quietly offered a small prayer for the boy who was _definitely_ going to die.

 _Show mercy to this boy when you take him into your Great Halls. It's not his fault he was born with too much valor, too little brain and given an army._

"General."

Andre froze.

"I've come to negotiate the terms of your surrender."

The old General wanted to laugh at the boy's audacity, but neither his tongue nor his throat appeared willing to make the necessary movements. That voice. The boy's voice – no, that was a _man's_ voice, a deep and pleasing timbre, the kind of voice made for shouting commands that soldiers proudly followed.

He licked his lips and shook the ridiculous thought away.

"I'm disinclined to do either." It was meant to sound certain and authoritative, and yet he couldn't keep the quiver out of it. His voice wasn't meant to go up against the likes of Prince Adrien's. Truly, he should just be quiet and let the other man speak.

What?

The General shook his head more vigorously, and his hand unsteadily rose to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Prince Adrien's hidden gaze must have followed the movement, for the man cocked his head. "Are you going to draw weapons at a peaceful negotiation?"

Behind him, his men stirred, a low mutter of discontent rising. Shame burned the General's cheeks at the rebuke, that he would dishonor himself like this. In front of _him_. "N-no! Certainly not." Another blunder, and his men might turn on him. And he'd deserve it. He had to show strength now, demonstrate who the superior leader was.

Terror writhed in his gut because he knew, with absolute certainty, that it wasn't him.

"Good." The small praise was like a soothing balm and the General shivered, eager for more.

Prince Adrien reached for the cowl of his hood and drew it back. His hair shone in the sun, glinting like gold, and he had a smile that had to have been carved by the Gods.

"Then let us return to discussing the terms of your surrender. I'm certain you wish to avoid unnecessary bloodshed as much as I."

Heavily armored knees hit the mud.

"Forgive me, your Grace," the General whispered, for how could he have ever dared to think himself this man's equal? To raise an army to deny him what was rightfully his?

Now all he could do was beg for mercy.

Prince Adrien smiled at him with indulgence and General Bourgeoise wept, quietly thanking all the Gods known and unknown that they had made his future King kind-hearted.

* * *

 _Never was there a prince more handsome, more charming or more beloved than Prince Adrien._


	2. Chapter 2

"Alya, no," Marinette whispered under her breath.

But her friend only winked at her before she confidently pushed her way past the crowd, dragging Marinette behind her. Irritated glances quickly turned to narrowed ones when they saw who was so rudely making their way to the very front of the gathered audience.

"Everyone's staring," Marinette whined.

They were. At Alya's dark skin and at Marinette's eyes. The fair-haired people of the kingdom always stared at the two of them, for their unique appearance drew attention. Marinette was used to it, mostly, and really, the stares had subsided now that her new neighbors had grown used to her, but having this many eyes roaming over her was… well, she didn't like it. It made her skin crawl.

"Trust me, the prince is worth seeing up close." Alya bounced on the balls of her feet as she conquered a spot from which they'd have the very best view of the passing delegation. "I know you don't believe me, but you will."

Marinette rolled her eyes.

She'd heard this ever since she'd moved to the capitol. Prince Adrien this, Prince Adrien that. The prince who, if one were to believe the people sighing over him, had been sculpted by the Gods themselves to be the most perfect, kindest, cleverest person to ever walk the earth. And maybe their devotion to their regent would have been sweet, if Marinette hadn't so often spotted a hint of drool.

And now there was this utterly ridiculous rumor going around that he had ended the war without spilling a single drop of blood. That the merciless General Bourgeoise had fallen to his knees and wept, so moved by the Prince's sweet pleas for peace that he had sworn his fealty then and there.

Was everyone in this city deranged?

Even Alya, her cunning friend who could spot a lie from a mile away, seemed to sincerely believe the story reported by the town criers. In fact, she'd looked at Marinette like she was the crazy one when she'd pointed out that it all sounded a bit far-fetched.

"I'm sure I will," Marinette said with a sigh, not willing to revisit that discussion.

Alya merely smirked, her golden gaze on where the cobbled road turned a corner. The prince and his procession would have to pass here on the way to the palace. But, despite her devotion to him, it was not the prince Alya was here to see.

She was here to ogle one of his servants, a man with skin as dark as hers.

Unlike Marinette, Alya had never had someone who could have taught her about her heritage.

A cheer rose not far from them and, even with all her doubt as far as the supposed magnificence of Prince Adrien was concerned, Marinette could not help the grin. The war was over, that much was true. And who cared how it had been won? There would be no men sent off to die or return as cripples, no famine, no siege of the city. The prince had pulled off a decisive victory, and that was all that mattered.

How strange.

The cheers were subsiding again, at least further up ahead.

Shouldn't they be screaming loudest when the procession neared?

That was when a white horse turned a corner and the entire world grew silent. Marinette's jaw slackened, her heart hammering against her chest. His golden hair gleamed, catching the sun's rays, a silver crown ever so slightly askew atop the windswept strands. The magnificently broad chest was decorated with the sigil of his House, the white butterfly. His lips were curved into a small, knowing smile. Like he knew secrets beyond the minds of mortal men.

She was helpless to do anything but stare as he raised his hand and waved. Marinette swallowed, torn between drinking in more of him and wanting to avert her eyes in shame. She was not worthy to be acknowledged by him. Marinette was but a lowly dressmaker, after all, cast out from her family for her father's decision to marry a foreigner.

He was too far away for her to make out what color his eyes were, but she just knew that it had to be the most beautiful hue of them all. Marinette would have to find out, so she could make a dress in that shade. Many dresses! Oh, surely that'd bring her fledgling store success, everyone would want one.

She tamped down the flare of jealousy, the one that whispered to make a dress only for herself. Prince Adrien was a blessing to be enjoyed by all, not just by her. He cared for all the subjects of his kingdom. And she was one of them!

Her heart sang with joy, even as the crowd was enveloped by silence. When he passed, heads turned like sunflowers toward him until the prince was out of sight.

* * *

Adrien dismounted from his white stallion, the beast pawing at the ground, restless. He grinned and soothingly ran a finger down the animal's long muzzle until he calmed. Like him, the horse did not much care for crowds. Truly, NeighSayer was made for him.

No other horse had ever dared to try and throw him off.

"May I, your Grace?"

Glancing over his shoulder at the flat voice, Adrien handed his horse master the reins.

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Lahiffe. Extra sugar cubes for him today."

The Akuma bowed and then turned, the temperamental beast eagerly following him to the stables. Even Akumatized, his steed still favored the man above all others.

"Your Grace," another chillingly empty voice said, and Adrien closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Then he turned to the _other_ Akuma with his brightest smile.

"Hello, Nathalie."

Nathalie wasn't really her name. He didn't know her real name. Adrien was pretty sure the Akuma didn't know her real name, either. She'd been the first, and the process not yet refined, so she'd been stripped of _everything_. The newest batch of Akumas was much better at feigning humanity.

But it was awkward to call her Akuma, so he'd picked a name for her long ago.

The woman curtsied, the movement awkward and abrupt, then stood rigidly at attention. "Your father wishes to congratulate you on your great victory."

Not much of a victory, to stroll on the battlefield and watch grown men fall to their knees in tears. Nor did Adrien much care for that part where the enemy combatants had rather persistently tried to kiss his boots.

But war was blood and pain and death, or so Adrien had been told, so perhaps it was for the best that this one had ended with nothing worse than somewhat bruised dignity. On whose part, he wasn't sure.

"Does he?" Adrien arched an eyebrow.

The Akuma nodded stiffly, and then turned to walk into the palace. Well. Nothing to be done now but follow. Once orders had been given, Akumas could not deviate from them, so he'd get no more conversation out of her until she'd fulfilled her objective of taking him wherever he was to be taken.

Although he had a good idea of where it was.

But Adrien hoped not.

Not this time.

Adrien followed her at leisure, slowing as they took familiar turns. Left, left, right, up the stairs to the wing overseeing the gardens, and – he closed his eyes.

Maybe father would be there. Maybe.

But when Nathalie unlocked the door to Adrien's room, nothing greeted him but emptiness and a letter on his bed.

It could still be a dinner invitation. How long had it been since they'd dined together? Adrien swallowed the lump in his throat because he knew exactly how long it had been.

Adrien had been eleven years old when his power had grown too strong for his father to bear.

Eleven years and one day old when Nathalie had appeared, the woman stripped of all human desires to be able to resist Adrien's unnatural gift and administer the discipline he'd needed.

He calmly picked up the letter and opened the envelope.

 _My son,_

 _You have truly made me proud this day._

 _With our border expanded to the south, and General Bourgeoise's impressive war machine joined with our own forces, we must turn our eyes toward the east. I'm afraid you'll not find as easy of a conquest there. They'll hear tale of your gift and will mobilize their greatest mages to counter you. That is why we must press our advantage, before–_

Adrien's fingers curled around the letter, crumbling it.

As if there was a way to counter him.

He turned on his heels and strode out of his room, navigating the path he'd not taken in many years as if it had only been yesterday. This wing of the palace was forbidden for him to enter without permission, and he certainly wasn't allowed to _speak_ here.

Adrien rammed his boot against the opulent doors leading to the throne room.

" _I won a war for you!_ " He tried to make it a roar, ugly and raw, give voice to all his rage and frustration, but all that came out was a valiant battle cry. So he stomped on the door again. "Is this all I get? A goddamn letter? _Father!_ "

But his father did not answer him, he never did, because he'd had his court mage enchant the doors so that Adrien's voice could never be heard on the other side of it.

Adrien was still screaming when the Akuma guarding the door grabbed him and dragged him back to his room.

* * *

Deep beneath the palace, hidden away in a crevice of the winding dungeons, was a little door, splattered with blood and viscera. It looked like any other door in the hallway meant to house prisoners. But this one lead to a grand room, its walls covered with shelves of what one might mistake for aromatic spices. All manner of curious devices glowed and hissed and moved, complex mechanisms ticking away.

At the room's center stood a boiling cauldron.

The court mage's quarters had once been occupied by Adrien's mother. Unkind rumors had whispered that she'd ensorcelled the King to take her as his Queen, but the birth of the prince had quelled those vicious tongues. For how could a wicked witch's womb have ever borne a man so good and just?

* * *

"Do you have what I want?"

The woman with no name looked up from whatever it was she was brewing, the smirk slipping from her face. "Your Grace." The words were said through gritted teeth, the powerful sorceress fighting against Adrien's charm as her face contorted into a grimace.

She failed, as she always did.

Her eyes glazed over, and the grin returned, manic and slavishly devoted. She eagerly crossed the cramped quarters, a swagger in her hips. The peacock feathers adorning her revealing dress trailed on the floor behind her. She played with her wild mane of black hair, twirling a finger around one of the red streaks.

"Your Grace," she said again, and it was an inviting purr. "Oh yes, the shipment arrived while you were in battle. News of your glorious victory set my heart at ease when I heard it." Red eyes widened. "Not that I ever doubted you."

"Not much of a battle," Adrien muttered, and shook off the court mage as she reverently tried to touch his hair. Trying to steal a strand, no doubt to work some sorcery on it, but Adrien knew better than to give pieces of himself to this woman. "Do not dare touch any part of me."

The mage cringed and swept into an apologetic bow, backing away. But some awareness glittered in those inhuman eyes. Rage at the humiliation Adrien was forcing on her.

It wasn't like he could help it.

That was why he was here, after all.

"Give it to me."

Still keeping her back bowed, the sorceress swept a hand to gesture to a small wooden crate. An ancient tome was lying atop it.

"Your Grace must be careful with these. The dark arts are volatile, they would harm perfection even as it sought to master them." The hard edge under all that simpering told the prince that the woman would like nothing more than for Adrien to blow himself up with black magic.

The prince was more than okay with that risk. He'd ridden his company to the brink of exhaustion, trying to return to the palace before the moon would be full in the sky instead of having to wait another month for relief from this curse. And made it back with only one night to spare.

Adrien would not bear it another day. Escape was near, and if the path led to death, then so be it.

Gingerly cradling the book of spells atop the box of ingredients to his chest, he cast a glance back at the sorceress who was watching him with narrowed eyes. The prince had never been able to like her, even before their animosity had reached a fever pitch.

She and her partner, a man with silver hair, purple eyes and a quivering voice, had invented the revolting Akuma after all.

" _Stop breathing."_

 _Prince Adrien watched dispassionately as the man fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. The mage tried reaching for his fine boots, silently begging for reprieve, and Adrien kicked him away. When the body spasmed and at last grew still, satisfaction coursed through the prince's veins._

His father had sent him an outraged letter for that incident. Adrien had tossed it into the fireplace. Even Akumatized soldiers whipping his back for costing his father a powerful servant hadn't been able to induce any remorse in the prince.

It had been worth it.

The mages had stolen his horse master's gentle smile.

He'd scraped together the mercy to spare one of the two, but the prince could not abide the thought of letting the closest thing he ever had to a friend go unavenged.

"Forget anything connected to this tome," Adrien said to the sorceress, and red eyes rolled back in their sockets. The prince's words stole away the memories of their recent encounters, just like they'd stolen the knowledge of how to create more Akumas.

* * *

Blood welled against the sharp blade and Adrien turned over his palm, letting it drip into the very center of the intricately drawn arcane circle. With one last glance at the book, the prince exhaled and then recited the summons from memory.

" _Blood to ash, pain to purpose,_

 _Herald of misfortune, harbinger of plague,"_

The circles' ashen borders lit up with a sickly green light. Black vapor gathered at his feet.

" _Do my bidding, for I thee summon,_

 _To cast a curse upon my enemies."_

The obsidian smoke pulsed, oozing like spilled ink as it took shape, sharp teeth gleaming white in the darkness. Claws, tail, and glowing green eyes. A maw split into a Cheshire grin before the fangs formed words in a sly voice.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

The official update schedule for new chapters is on Mondays and Wednesdays, but in the interest of kicking this story into gear, here's a Saturday update :D

* * *

Plagg stretched his back, raising his haunches as he pressed his front paws to the ground, claws digging into a fluffy carpet. His tail twitched, and he scented the air. His tongue darted out when he tasted remnants of sweet Lady Luck.

The man before him was one of Tikki's Blessed.

Not in all the years of Plagg's long existence had that ever happened. Tikki rewarded kind hearts, not those who would sell their soul to Misfortune to extract vengeance on those who'd wronged them.

"Spirit," the fair-haired man said. "I've summoned you to bargain." His voice was strong and thrummed with magic, hiding the nervous tinge. But Plagg was a clever predator, and he could sense weakness from a mile away. _Especially_ when it tried to escape him.

He scented the air once again. This man _reeked_ of Tikki, powerful magic dancing all around him. It was not Tikki's magic, no. It was the man's own, but she had twisted it, given it purpose and form. Lady Luck took a mortal's dormant magic and then set it to passively benefit her Chosen all their life. Trying to cast thousands of blessings as she did would have sapped her lifeforce if she did it all with her own magic.

And she'd chosen to bless a warlock, of all things.

Curiosity compelled Plagg to let the ethereal tendrils come closer. He let them wind and curl around his body to see what they would do, what purpose Tikki had infused the human's power with.

Plagg yowled and sprang back. The magic was seeping into his beautiful black fur, and he had to run to escape it as it tried to bend him to its will. Disgusting! Plagg bounced from wall to wall, knocking over expensive vases, his claws shredding luxurious curtains, all in an effort to _get it off._

Finally, he stopped to rest. Panting, he raised one paw to clean the remnants of magic away with his tongue. The blessing was cloying and sweet, sticking to him like candied sugar.

"Um," said the warlock, and Plagg hissed at him.

"Do not think you can enslave me!"

"I – I wasn't trying to–"

"Do you think me a fool, human? I sense what that aura of yours is doing to me, but you'll find the spirit of misfortune is no easy prey! You are not the first to try to put a leash on bad luck, and I will tell you what I told all who came before – I am not yours to tame!"

The human's eyes were wide as he leaned forward. "You can resist me?"

Why did he sound _eager_?

Plagg smugly raised his chin all the same. "Do I look like a _dog_ to you? It is not in my nature to heel and come when called. Did you think you could get me to slobber all over you? Ha! I think not."

The warlock grinned, his pale eyes shining with glee. "Spirit, are you _sassing_ me?"

Green eyes narrowed. "Warlock, I haven't even _begun_ sassing you."

"Please do," he whispered. Plagg grew still. The man's eyes were shining brighter now.

Misfortune laughed.

"Do you take failure so hard that it would make you weep, warlock? Going to go cry into your cauldron?"

"This isn't sorrow, foolish spirit." The human sat back and wiped a sleeve over his eyes. "And I'm not a warlock either."

"Right. And this isn't a summoning circle and your magic didn't just try to invade my mind."

"It's not _my_ magic," the man hissed. "While I can't deny that I'm the one who summoned you, this hellish _blessing_ was forced upon me by a fae who wanted to punish my father."

Plagg blinked slowly. Tikki didn't punish people for their hubris, let alone their children. That was _his_ job.

"…alright, human, you officially have my interest. What is it you wish to bargain for?"

The man drew back his shoulders. "I want you to curse me."

Plagg blinked again, twice in quick succession.

"Pardon? I must have misheard you."

"Curses cancel out blessings. I wish for you to remove the fae's magic."

Thrice it was now that Plagg could do nothing but blink in disbelief.

"Huh," he said.

This was new.

In all the hundreds and thousands of years that Plagg had been summoned by humans, never had they ever directed his curses at themselves.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

What would he even demand as payment? The true price humans paid for bargaining with him was rebound magic. The curses they would inflict upon their enemies came back to haunt his summoners thrice over.

And yet, that would apparently be giving this man a four-for-one deal.

"Warlock, I have to say, you've got me stumped." Plagg demurely folded his paws in front of him. "Why would you ever want to remove Tikki's blessing? From what I can tell, it allows you to have anything you want."

The human laughed. It was lovely and melodic, but Plagg's sharp senses heard the truth beneath the cloaking magic. That was a bitter laugh, filled with barely repressed hurt.

"Anything I want? This damn spell denies me the very thing I long for!"

"And what would that be?"

"I–" The warlock raked his hands through his golden hair, blinking rapidly, anguish lacing his voice. "I don't – I don't even know. It's not that I want people to treat me badly, but I – I want them to be able to. And choose not to. I want my soldiers to follow me because I'm worthy of it. I want to be thought kind because I _am_. I want them to laugh at my jokes because they're funny, not because magic whispers in their ear that I'm the wittiest man who ever lived. I want something _real_."

He grew very still, and then wiped at his eyes again.

"I want my father to be able to bear my presence."

Misfortune rose to his feet. His paws were soundless as he prowled, circling around the human to inspect him.

Curious. Very curious.

And curiosity had ever been Plagg's proverbial bane.

"I _might_ be of assistance," he said slowly, tail tip twitching. "But first is the matter of payment."

The man waved a hand as if it was not important at all. "I have a kingdom to offer. Whatever you wish for, it's yours." He paused. "Except my firstborn. Or my second. Really, any and all children of mine."

"What would I want with a screeching human?" Plagg made a noise of disgust. "They're loud and they stink. No, I leave those to Tikki."

"Oh. Well. That's good, then."

It was a lie.

Plagg had demanded firstborns before.

But when had he last _not_ loathed one of his summoners? They were corrupted and cruel, and it was his task to humble them for wishing Misfortune upon others. But this man did not strike him as deserving of that punishment. There was no malice in his curse, only yearning.

The spirit pondered what earthly delights he enjoyed enough to bargain for. An unusual payment for an unusual pact. It was only fitting.

"…you got any cheese?"

The warlock looked at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"Cheese. Preferably the gooey stuff."

* * *

Adrien stared at the little creature. "I mean – yeah, I guess?" The realm he was set to inherit was somewhat well-known for its variety of cheeses, not that Adrien had ever much cared for them.

"Great. Then this is the price I demand of you, warlock. For as long as you live, you will feed me as much cheese as I wish."

Was the spirit planning on sticking around?

"Well?" Green cat eyes stared at him expectantly.

If the price of freedom was to have to stuff a vaguely evil cat spirit with cheese, then so be it. "I accept your bargain."

The wide grin returned. Cat mouths were not supposed to move like that. Nor were their fangs supposed to be that long, that numerous. Or their fur so pitch black, oozing all over the expensive carpet.

It raised a paw, revealing tiny green pads on the bottom.

"Ah, our bargain is not yet struck, warlock. What you demand is no easy feat. I do not think I can remove a blessing gifted by Lady Luck herself."

 _No!_ Adrien's hands balled into fists. "You said–!"

"Warlock, calm yourself. Just because I can't undo it, doesn't mean that there aren't ways around it." The cat paused. "But I must warn you. I truly do not mean you harm, but I _am_ Misfortune. It's not in my nature to give gifts without drawbacks. There _will_ be consequences beyond what you wish for."

"I understand." Adrien had long since made his peace with the fact that his only way out would be through a curse. And nobody had ever heard of a benign curse.

But no curse could be worse than this _blessing_ of his.

"Now." The black ears perked up. "Do you know the _exact_ wording of how Tikki blessed you?"

Adrien nodded, and recited the phrases from memory, just as his father had recited them for him when he'd been a boy. Back when he'd still thought himself immune to his son's gift.

"…all the glories of this world shall be yours," he finished, an echo of his father's pride on the prince's lips. That had been the king's favorite part, always carefully enunciated.

" _Twin_ gifts even, huh? Tikki was _very_ generous with you." The spirit said nothing for a long moment, tail lashing. "…are you absolutely sure she said your name when she blessed you?"

"I… yes? Father had it written down word for word."

"Then I might have a solution for you." The grin was sly. "Names have power, you see. That blessing is for Prince Adrien, and Prince Adrien _alone_. If you wish to escape it, all you have to do is become someone else."

"…are you seriously telling me all I need is a name change?"

The cat snorted. "No. Of course not. That name called your true essence and bound it, you won't escape it so easily. Whatever you may call yourself, you are a prince, and you were born Adrien. No, you need to _become_ someone else."

Adrien swallowed heavily. Become someone else? Abandon the duty he'd trained for all his life? When he'd been a boy, he'd been so eager to help fulfill his father's dreams. He had listened to the King raving about his plans deep into the night, until the dawn had greeted them. Adrien had only wished that he, too, would one day learn such dedication to the cause. When he'd talked of uniting the kingdoms, his father's pale eyes had shone with an almost fanatical light.

But the prince had never acquired a taste for conquest. There was no glory in strolling onto a battlefield and being handed victory. He would never know true valor. Even if he ever did have to make use of his extensive sword training, he was not particularly eager to die to gain something so worthless as _land_.

What Adrien's ambitious heart longed for could never be taken by force.

"Can you turn me into someone else, then?" he asked softly.

"Maybe for a little while," the cat said. "Do you have anything to wear?"

Adrien blinked, tilting his head in confusion

"Anything you can carry around with you. Jewelry or the like. We'll need a cursed object for this."

The prince nodded and walked to his armoire, rifling through the little trinkets he'd been gifted over the years. Endless tokens of affections so sincerely given that he'd not had the heart to throw them away. He settled on a silver ring, because it was plain and had no memory attached to it. Adrien returned to where the spirit sat, presenting his find for inspection.

"That'll do. Now. Here is what I propose. I will infuse this ring with a piece of my essence. Wear it, and our essences will merge to create someone new. But beware, I am a creature of darkness. Like my power, the strength of this transformation will wax and wane with the moon. When its light is overtaken by the sun, the ring will lie dormant."

"So… you can only lift my blessing at night?"

"It's the best I can do, warlock. Don't get picky now, this is a very generous deal by my standards."

Adrien turned the ring over in his hand as he contemplated the offer.

"So what are the other drawbacks? I imagine there's more."

"Oh, one or two." The cat licked its paw. "Nothing too bad. I shan't force you into transforming every night, for you are free to choose whether to wear the ring or not. But when you do, know that your change will not end until the dawn. Still, you could wear it only once, decide you don't like it, and put it away forever."

Adrien's lip twitched. "But I'd still owe you cheese for the rest of my life."

"Naturally. I am about to cut off a piece of my essence for you, after all." The spirit sniffed. "It will grow back, of course. But think of my sacrifice."

"Right, right."

"Oh! And there is the small matter of your humanity."

"My – my humanity?" Adrien's eyes grew wide. "What do you mean?"

"Do I strike you as human, warlock?" The cat grinned, flashing sharp teeth. "When you take my essence into yourself, you will be altered. Irrevocably. Even if you do it only once." He flicked his tail and then the animal spirit somehow managed to imitate a shrug. "Your choice."

The prince stared at the ring.

Was he really so close to madness that he was considering a half-life as someone else? Someone who, evidently, wasn't even going to be human?

But it had taken him two years of pouring over the mage's books to find even _this_ path to freedom. The entire endeavor had been mad from the start. Who in their right mind wanted to lift a blessing? It just wasn't done. Nobody even knew _how_.

And…

Prince Adrien slanted a glance at the black spirit.

The one who did not seem quite as malicious as he'd pictured.

The one who had promised to stay by Adrien's side all his life, if only for cheese.

The one he'd been _bantering_ with.

Adrien had never bantered with anyone. People just nodded at whatever it was he said, like every dumb thought that ever left his lips rivaled the wisdom of the greatest philosophers. Even his boyhood ramblings had been treated as extraordinary insights.

He'd been – well, he'd been rather enjoying this exchange with the black cat.

But was it worth sacrificing his humanity for?

Well, what good had his twenty years as a human really done him?

Adrien laid the silver ring to rest before the creature, his hand trembling.

"Spirit. I accept your bargain."

Misfortune grinned wide, exposing dripping fangs, and blackness swallowed all.

* * *

Adrien groaned as consciousness returned to him, rolling over from where he lay on the carpet. He cracked open his eyes.

A black ring was lying in front of him.

He sat up, jerking his head around.

"Spirit?" he called. "Misfortune?" Did the cat have a name? Why hadn't he thought to ask?

Adrien was alone.

Scooping up the precious trinket, he paced the length of his room just to make sure the spirit was not hiding somewhere. But no, it was nowhere to be found. Not even the summoning circle Adrien had spent hours drawing remained.

As if it had never happened.

He tightened his hold on the cursed ring, running a thumb around the cool metal's edge just to confirm that it was there. It was real, all of it had been real.

The prince walked to his balcony, raising his head toward the sky.

Soft moonlight shone through the wispy clouds. Adrien had chosen this night to perform his ritual for a reason – misfortune was strongest under a full moon. That was what the tome had said, and the spirit had confirmed as much.

His gaze fell back down to the ring in his palm. It glittered like a diamond beneath the silver light.

Adrien should wait. Be patient for a fortnight and just leave the ring be. He'd ease himself into the power awaiting on the other side when the moon was but a sliver in the sky. That'd be the smart thing to do. The prince had a mind for strategy, had sharpened it over many a wargame.

But he really, _really_ did not want to wait.

Truly, what did he have to lose?

Only his humanity.

Adrien laughed, and slid the ring onto his finger.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and poked the cursed trinket. It refused to do anything.

Was there a phrase to activate it? But the spirit had said it only needed moonlight. Adrien held the hand which wore the ring over the railing, turning it this way and that under the open sky. No reaction.

He gazed back up to the clouds. Adrien could _feel_ the silver light in a way he never had before, his skin prickling where it touched. But when he glanced over at his shoulder at the mirror in his room, a prince gazed back.

Adrien was still Adrien.

Did Misfortune like to play pranks? Was that what this was? If he walked out of his room now, would people not simper and scrape?

He supposed there was only one way to find out.

Adrien turned on his heels, slowly striding to the door leading to the rest of the palace. His pensive gaze was still on the ring, his frown deepening the longer he stared at it.

The prince's steps came to a stuttering halt.

Something was wrong with his hand.

Though he didn't know what. Only that the longer he stared at it, the more wrong it appeared. Was it… was that a _smudge_? Yeah. Yeah, that was it, his fair skin was dirty. Had likely gotten dirty when he'd been lying on the carpet. Though, really, there was nothing wrong with lounging on the carpet occasionally. It was the finest carpet in all the realm, fluffy and comfortable.

But still.

Dirty.

Adrien raised his hand to his mouth and let his tongue dart out, cleaning the smudge away.

He blinked at the streak of fur now wetly shining on the back of his hand, same color as the small patch encircling his ring finger. Where was the rest of it? Relieved, he noticed the fine hairs spreading, so he turned to fix his other hand, too. The skin was _wrong_ , he needed to cover it with black. Only on his palms and fingertips did he allow small patches of pink to remain.

He absently scratched his pointed ear, but his nails were too sharp for comfort, so he curled his fingers into a fist. He brushed it against the side of his head, over and over, until rough stubble turned into silky fur and his dull hearing sharpened.

His lower back burned, and he dropped on all fours, trying to kick off the fabrics that were constricting around his growing tail. He twisted his torso, stretching, loosening, until he found relief, anxiously grooming the bare skin of the new limb to give it a warm pelt. But the fake fur was still all around, suffocating him as it grew bigger with every passing moment.

It was only a few minutes later that a small black cat crawled out from beneath a pile of elegant clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Intermission**

 _Once upon a time, a crying infant was left on the doorsteps of a monastery._

 _The monk who found her recoiled from the girl, for her skin was black as night and her hair red as fire. He took the child to the wisest among them, so that he might decide what to do with the demon spawn. But the elderly priest took one glance at the babe and was ensnared, declaring it an innocent._

 _There was great wailing in the sacred halls that day, the monks weeping when they saw the strongest of them succumb to vile enchantment. Cradling the demon to his chest, the priest fled the temple, taking the monks' most prized possessions with him._

 _You see, child, not even the best among us are safe from dark magic's corruption._

* * *

Alya stepped lightly on the narrow path, taking care that her skirts neither rustled nor disturbed the tall grass. If anyone asked, she was a not-so-fair innocent maiden taking a stroll through green pastures, as maidens were wont to do. She'd have added a happy little song to delight the forest creatures, if that hadn't blown her cover.

The rolling hills behind the palace were an ever-popular spot for nobles to take long rides and converse amongst themselves. And when they failed to keep their voices down, well, it was hardly Alya's fault when she overheard.

She was but an innocent maiden out on a stroll, after all.

And once she had the information, what else could she do but sell it for a handsome price to the local gossip rags? Everyone deserved news of the war, and none more so than the young man who might soon be conscripted to die. The capital was on edge, even as their faith in the prince's abilities to lead his armies to victory kept the unrest at no more than whispers.

But as the sun above her began to set and no hushed voices reached her ears, Alya sighed with disappointment. A weight leaned against her skirts in comfort and she absently curled her fingers into the brown fur of the gigantic dog walking beside her. Trixx wagged his white-tipped tail in response.

"Not our day, huh, boy?"

That was when she heard a man's distant shout.

And a horse's much closer whinny.

Alya's eyes widened. Then she threw herself to the side just as an enormous white beast trampled all over where she'd stood just moments ago. Trixx snarled and took off in pursuit.

"Come back!"

Her shout intermingled with another's, this one deep and masculine. She turned her head just as a man broke through the underbrush. Alya's analytical eyes assessed him in an instant as he came to a skidding halt. He was tall and lanky, clad in leathers and cloth, the sigil of House Agreste on his arm. He wore no weapon, so not a soldier, but a servant of some kind. Yet his dress was fine, the seams of his shirt not even close to fraying. A favored servant, then.

He was slick with sweat, panting like he'd been running for quite some time, and the shine created such a handsome contrast to his–

That was when her mind ground to a standstill.

Golden eyes met her searching gaze.

That man had skin as dark as her own. Sun-kissed sepia, Marinette called it, although Alya had heard far more unkind descriptions than that.

His lips moved as he came closer, holding out a hand to help her up from where she'd fallen. Words came out, lilting and foreign. A question she didn't understand.

"What?"

The man appeared taken aback, and he flashed her a rueful smile. "Ah, forgive me. I thought for a moment – never mind. Are you hurt?" He held his open palm a little closer, waiting for her to take it.

But Alya did not move, her quick wits strewn all around her on the ground, right next to her dignity.

She had _never_ met anyone who looked like her. Ever. Why did she have to be lying in the muck for this momentous occasion? She'd always secretly suspected that the Gods hated her, but this sealed it.

"Mademoiselle?" Concern was creeping into his voice now, and although manners, rationality and pride all urged her to answer him, Alya was distracted by the way he pronounced the word. It was _almost_ like her own accent, but there was a hint of something else there. Another tongue's signature on his vowels.

"Where are you from?" she blurted out.

Scarcely a moment later, Alya had to resist the urge to slap herself. She _hated_ it when people asked her this question. _Born and bred in King Gabriel's realm, same as you, simpleton._ And now she'd gone and made it her greeting to a stranger. The mud should just open her up and swallow her whole.

But she was spared the man's annoyance, for that was the moment when Trixx decided to tackle him.

"Trixx!" _Now_ her body found its will to move, and she scrambled to her feet. "Down! Bad dog!"

A whine was her only answer, soulful eyes staring at her in confusion even as her loyal companion kept his paws on the man's chest, pinning him to the ground. Trixx was only doing what she had taught him to do. Men liked to take all sorts of liberties with a maiden walking alone, and far too many of them tried to steal kisses from Alya.

Always stealing. Never offering anything in return.

Alya would have liked to blame her complexion, but that wasn't it. She was shapely enough, and men were willing to overlook the unfashionable tan. No, it was _everything_ about her. From her sharp tongue to her sheer force of will, no man wanted a shrew for a wife.

But they didn't need to offer marriage to try and coax her into trysts, so Alya had taken measures to protect her virtue, dubious as it was.

"Down," she said again, putting that iron will into her voice, and Trixx returned at once to her side, his bushy tail between his legs. Alya turned her attention back to the man, extending a hand to him in turn. "I am so, so sorry, Monsieur."

He grasped the offered hand – such a pleasantly strong grip – but barely made use of it as he pushed rather than pulled himself up. Rather pointlessly wiping at the grime on his pants, he only succeeding in smearing it further. Still he cast her a grin.

"It's only fair. Your hound has a keen sense of justice, I think. My animal companion knocked you down first, so now it was my turn."

Oh.

Of course he had to be kind, too.

Flustered, she turned to the white stallion prancing in a field not far from them.

"…is he mocking us?"

"Yes." The man's voice was resigned. "I think he is. NeighSayer is rather… _special_."

" _NeighSayer_?" Alya repeated. That was the most ridic–

"Yes. Prince Adrien has a wonderful sense of humor, don't you think?"

–most splendid name for a horse she had ever heard.

"He belongs to the Prince?" she whispered in awe, and her gaze swiveled back to the man beside her. "Are you the Prince's squire?"

"Ah, no. 'fraid not. I couldn't wield a blade to save my life." He chuckled awkwardly. "I know it may seem hard to believe, given our current predicament, but I _am_ skilled with handling horses. I'm his stablemaster. Of sorts."

"Stablemaster," she repeated. "Of sorts?"

"Well. I'm mostly just in charge of stablemastering NeighSayer."

"And how's that working out?"

The stallion chose that moment to rear back on its hindlegs, whinnying so loud it was almost a roar. A challenge.

"…poorly. It's working out poorly." The man raked his fingers through his hair and laughed. "I swear, me and the hell beast usually get along great. He's just spooked because…" His words trailed off, as did his laughter.

"Because…?"

He had such an expressive face, Alya could stare at it endlessly. Right now it was flowing from one emotion to another, all given a fleeting moment to shine. Trepidation, hesitance, then determination.

"The preparations for war are underway, and the stables are filled with strangers. Nobles, soldiers, stallions he doesn't know. I wanted to take him on a walk to calm him. But, well…" He gestured to the horse that had taken to prancing around in a circle again, its wild eyes on the two of them.

"So if that's the Prince's warhorse, then…" Alya peered at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I take it you'll be traveling to the frontlines with him?"

"Aye." And while he puffed out his chest, not a hint of fear in his posture, Alya knew with absolute certainty that he did not want to go. This man had no taste for blood.

"I wish you good fortune."

His thoughtful gaze was back on the horse. "I am proud to do my duty to House Agreste."

"Of course." Alya nodded. It was a great honor, indeed, to be so close Prince Adrien. But still… "Might I ask how you came to serve him?"

His lip twitched, amused by her blatant prying. He jerked his chin toward the stallion. "Do you know what that is?"

"…a horse?"

"More like an equine aristocrat. He has the blood of the finest horse breed in all the world running through his vein. It's only found in lands under the rule of mighty sultans. One of them sent this one's sire to King Gabriel as a gift, as part of a trade agreement well struck."

The man shrugged.

"But they're temperamental animals, requiring a delicate touch, and my family was sent as part of the gift, too. My father has taken care of these horses since he was a child, as did my grandfather before him, and my great-grandfather before that."

"And now you," she said softly.

"And now me." His eyes twinkled, and he suddenly swept into a bow. "Forgive me for my abominable manners. Not only did I let you get nearly run over by the horse under my care, but it occurs to me I haven't even properly introduced myself. I am Nino Lahiffe."

"Nino." Alya licked her lips as she said the vowels, tasting their sound. His head snapped up, stare locked on the small movement. "I'm Alya. Alya Wayzz." Belatedly, she remembered to curtsy.

Unlike him, she had no illustrious tradition behind her family name. It had been shared with her by her guardian, a kind old priest who'd taken in an orphan nobody else had wanted.

"Alya." There were those elongated vowels again, his tongue making her plain name sound striking to her ears. Beautiful. Almost lewd. She swallowed heavily when she noticed the gleam in his eyes. Alya knew that look, had seen it in men's eyes before, but somehow it didn't bother her on him.

In fact, it made her want to twine her locks around her finger and smile coquettishly to lure out many more such looks.

 _Get a grip, girl. He's a stranger. Probably won't be any more willing to put up with a bluestocking than other men._

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alya," he murmured, and some ridiculous portion of her stomach decided to flutter. _Stop it._

"The pleasure is mine." Was that her voice, so husky and low? It had to be, for her lips were moving and forming sounds, though she was scarcely aware of what she was saying, so consumed with awareness of him.

Alya wanted to know everything about this man. Him, and the land he came from.

"Tell me–" She cleared her throat to return to a normal cadence. "Would you tell me more of these lands ruled by sultans?"

Nino's lips curved into a knowing smile, but his gaze darted to the horse. The one that appeared to have calmed down, and had begun grazing not far from them, though it still kept a wary eye on the two humans. "I'd love to, though I confess I scarcely remember it. I was but a boy when I left. Mademoiselle Alya, might I suggest a bargain?"

"A bargain?" One of her eyebrows arched.

"Within the fortnight, I shall ride with the Prince to the frontlines. Until then, I'm afraid my days will be consumed by duty. But." His eyes shone with mischief. "I believe my odds of surviving this war will be much better if I have a woman waiting for me at home. Incentive to return in one piece, you see."

"Well." Her tongue was heavy, almost too heavy to move, but Alya was determined not to let him see how much he flustered her. "Not to belabor the point, but one would think avoiding a return in _several_ pieces would be incentive enough all on its own."

Nino laughed low in his throat. "You'd have a point, if men were logical beings. But we're not, and we're _much_ more motivated by beautiful maidens than mere reason."

"You should consider restructuring those priorities."

He only laughed again, her impudence amusing rather than offending him.

Alya bit her lip to keep from smiling as well. "So the bargain is…?"

"I shall tell you of the land of my ancestors when I return from the war." The corners of his golden eyes crinkled. " _If_ you pray for my safe return and welcome me home with a kiss."

"You are bold, sir." A giggle escaped her, and she shut her mouth at once. Alya did not _giggle_. She was above that sort of thing.

"Fortune favors the bold."

"So it does." Gods, he had such pretty eyes. As golden as the Prince's hair. "I… might be amenable to such an arrangement. Any particular preference as to who shall hear my prayers?" The God of War was the one to decide which of his warriors survived his battles, but while this man was headed to the frontlines, he was no soldier. Should she beg the Mother's mercy, then? Or perhaps ask for the Guardian of the Forest to extend his protective veil, since Nino was an animal's caretaker.

"That's between you and your Gods, I shan't tell you what to do."

" _My_ Gods?" She tilted her head. "Do you pray to different ones?"

"Just the one."

" _One_?" she repeated in disbelief.

Nino shrugged, his wide grin never leaving his face. "We gave all our other gods away, and now we have only the One."

"What a generous people you must be."

"Charity is one of the pillars of our faith."

"Now I truly _must_ hear more of this land." She bit her bottom lip and grinned back. "I'll pay the toll."

He beamed at her, voice husky. "I look forward to it."

"So do I." Alya cleared her throat, averting her gaze as heat burned her cheeks. "…your horse is running away again."

He bit out a foreign curse – his tone left no doubt that the word he'd used was a vulgar one – and broke into a sprint to pursue it.

But he did cast her one last longing look over his shoulder.

"Wait for me to return, Alya!"

"I will," she whispered. "Nino."

* * *

A bell jingled as Alya pushed open the door to the store, and held it open for Trixx to trot inside as well. A white-haired man had his nose buried in a book behind the counter, but he looked up at the bell's chime. His wrinkled mouth curved into a happy smile at the sight of her and she pranced up to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Good evening, father!"

"You're in a good mood today," he said, and affectionately brushed her red curls.

"I met a man who looks like me." Alya vibrated with excitement, her gaze darting from shelf to shelf. "Father, do you know which lands are ruled by sultans? Do we have any books on them?"

The old man leaned back in his chair, humming thoughtfully. "Some volumes on arithmetic and astrology. The Orient is home to great scholars, every year they name more stars."

Alya made a face. "No, but… about the land. And the people. Their histories."

He shook his head. "Sorry, my sweet. They keep their own history and most of it doesn't get translated. Perhaps you'll find what you're looking for in the royal library, but there's only so much space in our store." When her guardian saw her obvious disappointment, his green eyes softened. "However… yes. I might have something. Very popular with parents of young children."

Father Wayzz pushed himself out of his chair, spry for his age, and walked the length of the room, his fingertips brushing the spines of hundreds of books as he searched them. Alya trailed closely behind.

"Eureka," the man murmured, and pulled out a heavy tome, its cover intricately decorated with geometrical patterns. Alya stood on her toes to catch a glimpse of its title.

 _One Thousand and One Nights._

* * *

Nino fed NeighSayer another bribe as the stallion dutifully trotted into his enclosure. After leading him on a merry chase for hours, the horse had finally tired himself out and let himself get caught with sugar cubes. The sun had already begun to set, bathing the stables in red and gold light. Nino was soaked through with sweat, caked with mud, and had lost a half-day's worth of time.

And he couldn't be happier.

Nothing cheered a man like the thought of a pretty maiden waiting for his return.

"Lahiffe?"

Nino looked up at the flat voice and swallowed heavily, recognizing King Gabriel's massive personal guard, Sir Gerilla. The knight's gaze rested on the stallion, then moved to him.

"The King wishes to speak with you."

"Me?"

While many men at court claimed to be favored by the Prince, Nino was one of the few who could make a convincing case for it.

When Nino had first come to this land, with its lush green meadows and blisteringly cold winters, the Prince had taken one look at him and demanded him for a playmate. Unusual, perhaps, considering their vast difference in rank, but they'd been of the same age, and nobody wished to deny the Prince. So they'd crossed wooden swords and explored the forests surrounding the capital together.

It had spurred Nino to learn his new home's tongue quickly, eager to finally be able to talk to his new friend. And the more he'd been able to decipher the words, the more Nino had realized just how blessed he was to have left the desert and met Adrien.

Of course, he'd also felt rather foolish the more he'd been able to understand. The Prince had been wise far beyond his age, and Nino had wept bitterly when he'd realized he could never hope to be Adrien's equal, not in rank, skill or virtue. All those spars he'd thought he'd won had been naught but kindness by the Prince, so Nino wouldn't tire of their games being unbalanced.

But no matter how affectionately the Prince treated him, Nino was far beneath him.

Recognizing his new liege's good nature, Nino had grown determined to be his most devoted servant, and Prince Adrien richly rewarded his efforts. He'd been given explicit orders to only address the Prince by name, not rank and title.

However, his bond with the Prince did not extend to the King. Nino could count the number of times he'd even _seen_ King Gabriel on one hand. The man rarely left his throne room, was rumored to be ill. Some celebrated these whispers, actively hoped for his health to fail, so that Prince Adrien might become King as soon as possible.

Everyone knew he would be a far better ruler than his father. Most everyone also had the sense to never say that out loud for fear of losing their heads.

Not having much of a choice, Nino bowed his head to the knight and quietly followed.

The doors to the throne room creaked when they were pushed open, and fell closed with a heavy thump. Silence fell, and Nino swallowed heavily as he stared up at the haggard man sitting atop an elegant throne.

Where had the soft murmur of voices gone? Just a moment ago – Nino subtly tilted his head, straining to hear anything beyond this hall, but it was like all the noisy bustle of the palace had been snuffed out.

"Nino Lahiffe."

King Gabriel's voice held neither the charm nor the kindness of his son's. It was like the crack of a whip, making Nino cringe and wish it wasn't aimed at him. He bowed stiffly.

"Yes, your Grace?"

"How go the preparations for the war, horse master? Is my son's steed ready to see battle?"

"Yes, your Grace. NeighSayer is fearless."

"Good. A spooked horse has been the end of many warriors. An end that cannot be allowed to be my son's." He paused for a long moment. "Distractions on the battlefield are deadly. Even a single moment of inattention can be the difference between life and death. Tell me, Lahiffe, if you saw an arrow sailing toward my son, what would you do?"

"I would throw myself in front of him, your Grace."

"That is what I like to hear." Oppressive silence reigned again for far too long. "They say my son keeps you by his side always."

Nino nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "He – he has been known to favor me, yes. I serve him faithfully and he recognizes that." The Prince liked to give him small tasks that barely qualified as duties. Whether it was helping to carry some insignificant thing or accompanying him on rides, it all added up to Nino spending most of his days in Adrien's presence.

"Fortune smiles upon you, then." The king sighed heavily. "But you cannot protect my son from arrows you don't see coming. Distraction is the ultimate enemy in war. Lahiffe, I would ask a heavy sacrifice of you. For the Prince."

"Sacrifice?"

"To sharpen your senses. To give you clear eyes. To prepare you for the wars to come."

Nino hesitated, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He raised his head a little. The two court mages were watching him, their irises aglow. Red and purple. Nino's gaze skittered away, and he deepened his bow, staring at the ground.

"…for Prince Adrien?"

"Yes, horse master. For my son."

Nino was the Prince's most devoted servant.

Saying no did not even cross his mind.

* * *

 _You see, child, not even the best among us are safe from dark magic's corruption._


	5. Chapter 5

Finally freed from the wretched fabric, Adrien paused. His tail twitched, and he slowly swiveled his head around, gazing at what it was that had sought to trap him.

Those were his clothes.

Didn't he need clothes?

A prince couldn't just walk around without his fine clothes.

Well, there was that time he'd walked into a council meeting in his undergarments just to see what would happen. He'd run faster than the Akuma chasing him, and they were forbidden from forcibly dragging him away in front of witnesses. Of course, none of the diplomats and dignitaries had blinked an eye, still enraptured by Adrien's every word and complimenting his bold taste in attire. The thrill had worn off as he'd shivered in the cold autumn air while the meeting dragged on.

Shortly after, the Lords of the court had started walking around in their underwear, too. It was a fashion trend Adrien had privately encouraged for his own amusement. But when the Ladies started putting their own spin on the new style, it had sunk in that he was taking advantage of the brain damage he inflicted on his surroundings. He'd put a stop to it by praising a modestly dressed Countess, dancing two waltzes in a row with her.

Adrien extended a paw, tapping the hem of his shirt. Why was it so _big_? No way could it fit him.

In fact, everything in the room was suddenly so… big…

"Damn you, spirit," he muttered.

At least he tried to. All that came out was an affronted _mrowr_.

In two leaps, he was in front of his mirror. Or rather, beneath it. So he hopped up on his nightstand, hind legs scrambling for purchase, and heaved himself up.

A black cat stared at him with wide green eyes. Adrien tilted his head, and so did the cat. He puffed out his chest, and the cat did the same, emphasizing its almost regal fluff. Like a lion's mane.

Then the cat's ears perked up, just as Adrien heard the ghostly echo of laughter. Laughter that sounded a lot like the spirit's.

"Hilarious."

His dry commentary turned into an annoyed meow. In the mirror, the cat's ears went flat.

Yes, Misfortune had warned him that he'd lose his humanity. But Adrien had thought he'd retain at least _some_ of it. If their essences were meant to fuse together to create someone new, why was one half overshadowing the other?

How was he supposed to make friends like this? He couldn't talk! And that had been the whole point of this endeavor!

He curled up, tucking his tail in front of him as he stared at the mirror.

Adrien had failed. Completely and utterly. He'd traded away a lifetime's supply of cheese for nothing. Some indeterminate piece of his humanity, gone forever. He supposed that was his punishment for trying to cut deals with Misfortune.

…well, at least he was cute.

He closed his eyes, settling down for a nap. In the morning, he'd take the ring off, and a new search for a way to lift his blessing would begin. Just another in a long line of failures. The first one had been when he'd been nine years old.

In a frantic perusal of the royal library, Adrien had stumbled upon the concept of _blood brothers_ , and thought such a bond might create an immunity to his gift. But it hadn't. The blissful few weeks of playing with the only friend he'd ever known had come to an end.

The language barrier had offered protection, but once Nino's sharp mind had started picking up the meaning of Adrien's words, he'd succumbed to a slow decline. As an adult, his blessing took only moments to sink its claws into people, but when he'd been a child, it had taken _days_. Days he'd spent in a panic, trying to slow its spread.

 _The wooden sword clacked as it smacked against its equal, and his opponents' weapon was knocked from his hand. Again._

" _You're not even trying anymore."_

 _The answering smile had been clever and spirited only last week, but now it was dumb and happy._

" _You – too strong," Nino said, his thick accent mangling the pronunciation._

 _Bullshit! The other boy was half a head taller than he was, had been winning more than his fair share of the spars!_

" _Fight," the prince growled, and let the Command he'd been avoiding at all costs slip into his voice. "Fight for real."_

 _Nino knew that word._

 _He lunged for his sword and Adrien barely had the presence of mind to draw his own up to parry. The prince cried out in pain when Nino landed a blow on his shoulder in the relentless assault. Bone cracked, and a deep ache spread through his limb, Adrien's wooden weapon slipping out of his hand to clutter to the ground._

" _Stop!"_

 _Thankfully, Nino knew that word, too._

 _Golden eyes widened with horror as awareness returned to them and the dark-haired boy fell to his knees, a swell of foreign words spilling from his tongue as he reached for Adrien's boots and tried to kiss them._

 _But the prince stumbled away, pain throbbing in his shoulder and his chest. He didn't want this, he didn't want_ any _of this–_

Nino had been so far gone that he hadn't even questioned it when Adrien had come to him with a true blade and mimed slicing open his palm. Snatching the dagger, Nino had mimicked the movement at once, believing it to be punishment and repentance. Even now, Adrien cringed with guilt whenever he caught glimpses of the faded white scar.

But that faint twinge was nothing compared to what his heart did when he looked at the Akumatized remains of the man. That was Adrien's fault, too.

Because he'd liked to play pretend.

His horse master had been an easygoing man who was friends with half the palace, always quick to offer a grin. Surely it hadn't been so farfetched to believe that he might have liked Adrien even without the compulsion. The prince had kept the man close to his side, amused himself by telling him jests and closed his eyes to the fact that Nino's breathless laughter wasn't _real_.

The prince shook his head, trying to dislodge the reviled memories.

That hadn't been him, this was someone else's pain. He was supposed to be someone new.

The cat seized that thought.

Yes. He was a cat. Just a dumb little animal without a care in the world. An animal in need of a name. And, since he was a black cat, and animals weren't known for their creativity, he decided that he was Chat.

Chat Noir.

The black cat hopped down from his perch, surveying the room he found himself in. Then, following instinct, he bounded toward the balcony, easily clearing a leap several times his height to land on the railing.

Beloved moonlight stroked his fur, the night beckoning him to explore his new territory. All of this was _his_. Or would soon be. Chat Noir shook his head. No. This domain belonged to a prince, not a cat.

But he could make it his. _Conquer_. He knew how to conquer, had played a thousand games of strategy and studied the wars that had shaped the realm's borders. Dusty books and dead-eyed tutors, he'd endured them all.

Separated from his army, alone in foreign territory. What was the contingency plan for that?

Charm. Find allies. _A king without subjects is no king at all._

His ears flattened against his head, and he shushed the loathsome voice. Memories not meant for him kept stirring, but he was someone _new_. He would start fresh. Chat Noir was no king. Nor a prince.

He was a cat who wanted to go _exploring_ , not conquering. So Chat did just that, not hesitating when his strong hind legs pushed him off in a daring jump. He landed gracefully on the roof of another building, his soft paws not making a sound. Were his mouth capable of it, he'd have grinned. No ordinary cat could pounce as far as he just did.

But he was no ordinary cat. He was the greatest cat of them all. A _Lord_. Yes. Chat Noir, Lord of Cats. No, Lord of the Night! Even better.

Chat ran. Like a shadow, a breeze in his fur and the moon at his back, he jumped from roof to roof, from the lowliest alley to the highest spire of the palace. When he reached the peak, he pawed at the silver disc in the sky, so deceptively close, yet so far away, source of his strength.

Ah well. One day he'd catch it.

As he made his way back down from the tower, zigzagging along the window sills, his sensitive ears twitched, picking up on faint male laughter carried to him by the wind.

"…did. Threw meself right in front of 'im, all heroic-like."

"Piss off. You're making this up."

"On me mum's grave."

"Your mother's not dead, you daft idiot. I should know, considering last night she and I–"

The guard did not get to finish his sentence, interrupted by a shove and a yelp, and Adrien grew very still.

All his life he'd heard conversations like this drifting in from the window. Taunts and boasts and insults that were not insults. Hidden affection. How he'd longed to take part in it.

No one had ever dared to insult the late Queen, not even in jest.

His tail twitched in irritation. A mute cat could not join in, either. Not even the Lord of Cats.

He still settled down to watch, absently grooming his tail to calm his nerves. No, Chat Noir could not join the banter, but he could observe in a way Adrien could not. Even a glimpse of the prince let all conversation die out. Now he'd get to observe ordinary humans in their natural habitat.

Movement caught his attention and he tilted his head.

A woman was trying to scale the part of the wall the patrol was about to pass.

* * *

" _Wait for me to return, Alya."_

Well.

She had.

Even as short as the war had been, her patience – a virtue in tragically short supply for her – had been tested. She was not the kind of woman who idly waited around for things to happen to her. Alya prided herself on making things happen.

When she'd stood in that reverent crowd, yes, her eyes had been drawn to the Prince. How could they not be? But she'd torn her gaze away. Only for a few heartbeats, but it had been enough to spot the dark-haired man riding behind the golden heir. And ever since, anticipation had been _killing_ her.

Alya had given Nino _two_ entire days to seek her out after his return from the frontlines. Well, more of a day and a half. She had strategically positioned herself near the great gates, demurely sitting under an oak with a book in her lap, so she'd be the very first thing any man leaving the confines of the palace would see.

Many men had seen her, and Trixx had shooed them all off.

For Alya had eyes only for _one_ man and was patiently awaiting him.

Until the sun had started setting and the last thin thread of her serenity had snapped. She'd coaxed one of the soldiers flirting with her to tell her about the man in charge of the Prince's warhorse.

She'd been informed that Nino guarded the stables at night.

So, naturally, Alya had no choice but to break into the palace to see him. If anyone asked, she was but an innocent maiden out on a stroll.

With practiced ease thanks to a wild childhood of running through forests and taking every tree in existence as a personal challenge, her feet found even the smallest ledge to balance on. Her strong grip grasped any brick that stood out from the solid wall. Alya's climb was slow, steady and silent.

Right up until a black cat landed on the jutting stone she'd been about to reach for, and Alya had to stifle a surprised shriek. Its green eyes almost seemed to glow as it stared at her. Then it casually hopped on the brick right above the one she was currently clinging to.

And it extended a paw to start tapping on her white knuckles.

"No," she whispered, fierce scowl on her face and steel in her voice.

The cat paused. Then it tapped again. One finger lost its grasp.

"Stop it," Alya hissed under her breath.

The cat hissed, too, baring sharp fangs right in her face, and she could not help jolting back.

Alya lost her footing. Her eyes widened as she flailed. It was a short way down, nothing to fear as long as she avoided hitting her head, but–

A small cry escaped her lips as sharp thorns scraped her skin, tearing her dress. Tears stung her eyes as she forced herself to stay completely still, lest the briar patches lining the lowest sections of the palace walls sliced her up any further. It had taken her forever to shimmy all the way over here, and now she'd have to start over. And then sashay up to Nino in a torn dress and with rose petals in her hair.

Just as she was about to let loose a string of curses at the damn cat, voices drifted from above.

"–was that?"

"I'll go check."

The cat jumped down, skillfully evading the thorns to settle on her knees. It stared at her with its unnerving eyes as it laid a paw on her lips. _Shushing_ her. Then it meowed. Loudly. More of a yowl, really.

"Ah, it's just a cat."

Heavy footsteps grew faint as the guards resumed their patrol.

Both woman and cat were still for a long moment. Then the paw withdrew from her lips and the cat leapt away over the hedges.

Well.

There was nothing for Alya to do now but crawl and try to keep the damage to a minimum. She winced when her dress kept getting caught in the thorns, the faint sound of ripping accompanying her as she wiggled her way out. Marinette would mend any rips for her at a discount, but the dress was likely beyond salvaging.

The cat was waiting for her on the other side, sitting next to three letters scrawled in the dirt.

 _W H Y_

Alya blinked at the word and raised her head to look at the black cat. Intelligence gleamed in those green eyes.

"Why I'm trying to break into the palace?" she whispered, keeping her voice low.

The cat nodded, like it understood her perfectly.

Alya grew very still.

"You little prick, you threw me down on purpose."

The cat _rolled its eyes,_ and then it started scratching in the dirt with its paw.

 _G U A_

"Guards. Right."

Black cats were bad luck. Every child in the realm knew that. A black cat with a cunning mind struck Alya as the sort of creature one ought to avoid.

But this one had saved her from having to explain herself to royal guards, perhaps even from having to spend a night in the dungeons.

"There's a man, a servant of the Prince. I promised him a kiss upon his return from the war, but he hasn't come see me yet. I'm here to deliver his reward."

The tip of the cat's tail flicked, and Alya could have sworn its eerie gaze softened.

Then it turned around and walked away. Once it had taken a few steps, it paused, and looked over its shoulder. The message was clear.

 _Follow me._

Alya did. Because this was a _magical_ cat, and she had somehow stumbled upon an _adventure_. A quest! Just like in the books she loved to devour.

The cat was fast, and it moved in leaps and bounds rather than by keepings its paws on the ground, but it always waited for her to catch up. Man-made walls turned into ancient stone as she kept running after it. The builders of the capital had taken great advantage of nature's defenses. The king's palace rose high above the city, seated on a rising cliff overlooking the sea, only accessible through one heavily fortified side.

By the time the cat came to an abrupt halt, Alya was out of breath. It jumped up a nondescript boulder and pressed a paw to the stone.

A secret passageway opened with a deep rumble.

Alya's eyes widened.

"Does… does that lead inside the palace?"

The cat nodded.

And Alya could not help her squeal of excitement as she did not hesitate to cross the threshold.

This truly was just like one of her books.

* * *

Was his blessing still working?

The woman didn't even hesitate before confidently walking into the tunnel. Of course, Chat Noir meant her no harm, but if an uncannily shrewd black cat had ever shown Adrien a dark tunnel, he'd have thought twice about whether such a creature had his best interests at heart. And _he'd_ summoned Misfortune to bargain with, so he was hardly the picture-perfect role model of cautious restraint.

But then, love made a fool of people, and this woman was in love.

Adrien had always been fascinated by the glimpses he caught of lovers sneaking around the palace. It had always filled him with a yearning, a thirst for the same experience. But no matter how much he longed to know a woman's touch, never had he allowed it. Whenever he went near a pretty woman who stirred his interest, her eyes glazed over and – well, he didn't enjoy the way they debased themselves, vying for his attention. All the most interesting parts of them just leaked away until even cunning minds were filled with naught but lust for him. Lust, and the need to obey. If he so much as crooked his finger, a faithful woman would abandon her husband, and then hate herself for it afterward.

Adrien just couldn't justify doing that to any of them. What if he hurt them with his unpracticed fumbling? They'd not say a single word of complaint.

Also, the drool was somewhat off-putting.

But now he was Chat Noir, and if nothing else, he could live vicariously. Sneaking into his palace? Lovers reunited after a war? Secret rendezvous at night? Yes, please.

He happily led the woman through the dark maze of corridors and stairs, magic wisps in the walls lighting their path. It had once been carved into the cliff as an emergency escape route for the royal family.

Despite his small body, he was surprised to find that his strength hadn't diminished. None of the heavy stones and secret switches gave him trouble as he pushed them around to unlock yet more doors, evading the lethal traps and dead ends.

Only the lack of opposable thumbs posed a problem. Fortunately, the woman was a quick thinker and took over the tasks that stumped him. He hadn't noticed it at first, had thought it a trick of the night's shadows and his new vision, but her complexion was unusual, almost like–

Chat willed his thoughts away from that direction. Because he was just a cat and no one else. A cat who happened to know some secret passageways.

At last, they made it to the last door, magic shaping the stone into a staircase that led to a tucked away corner near the central courtyard. The woman stopped to stare as the stairs vanished behind her, silently smoothing into solid ground, and then turned her gaze on him.

She curtsied.

"Thank you, Monsieur Cat."

Chat pressed his chest to the ground to imitate a bow as best as he could. Then, with one graceful leap, he made it to the nearby roof and settled in to watch the reunion.

The woman looked uncertain for a long moment, wandering around aimlessly, before recognition dawned on her face. Evidently, she'd spotted some landmark to orient herself with. She steeled her spine, raked her fingers through her hair to dislodge some remaining rose petals, and confidently strode in the direction of the stables, tattered dress fluttering behind her.

Stables.

Chat's eyes widened with alarm.

 _No, don't go there._

It didn't mean anything. Just because they shared a complexion, that didn't mean she was here for _him_. There were lots of other men in that direction.

The cat was helpless to do anything but follow, his gaze on the man who stood not far away, guarding the enclosure of the prince's warhorse. The horse master didn't need sleep anymore, so there was nothing for him to do but his duty. His eyes were empty and dull, staring at nothing at all.

The woman's face lit up with happiness and she broke into a sprint, just as bile rose in Chat Noir's throat.

And he ran.

Ran away from what his existence had wrought, not wanting to see its aftermath.

Chat Noir left the palace grounds, leaping from roof to roof, far into the winding underbelly of the city the _other one_ didn't dare venture into. When _he_ walked the streets, people crowded around him, wanting his touch, his blessing, a kind word, desperate for his affections.

The cat ran and ran until his legs gave out in exhaustion and he tumbled onto a balcony.

"Oh no." The woman's voice was kind, her bluebell eyes filled with concern. "Kitty, are you hurt?"


	6. Chapter 6

Just as Alya was about to launch herself at him, she decided to slow down. Some mysterious allure had to be preserved, after all. It wouldn't do to make him see how much he'd managed to tie her into knots in his absence.

She'd met him only once, but Gods, with the way he'd taken the lead role in her dreams since, it was like she'd known him forever. So Alya smoothed her ruffled hair, pulling out yet more thorns that had gotten tangled, and tried not to dwell on how utterly disheveled she looked.

"Nino," she said huskily, and swayed her hips. "I've come to hold up my end of the bargain."

The man turned toward her as she spoke.

And Alya shivered.

Not in the good way.

His gaze was flat, devoid of the sparks of humor and desire. Nothing like the golden eyes that raked over her body in her dreams.

"Mademoiselle." He inclined his head toward her. "It's good to see you again."

It didn't _sound_ good. His tone was absent, like she was barely worth paying attention to.

But Alya was not an easily deterred woman. "I see you've managed to come back in one piece," she said, somewhere between affection and a challenge.

"Yes."

She awkwardly shifted her weight, waiting for him to say more, make her smile with some droll retort. But after a brief silence, his gaze just slid off her. He turned away, staring straight ahead as he resumed his guard's stance.

"Don't you want to–" She cleared her throat. _Kiss me?_ No, too desperate. "–honor our bargain?"

"I've no more interest in it," he said, sounding bored.

Heat flooded her cheeks, humiliation mingling with rage. So. Another man who'd played a game with her to pass the time. Well, Alya would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly she'd been fooled.

Without another word, she turned on her heels and strode away, as if she hadn't just tried to scale a castle's walls for him. She held her head high, fought back the tears stinging her eyes, and proudly flaunted what remained of her dignity.

He did nothing. Didn't chase, didn't mock, didn't even inquire where she was going or why she'd bothered coming.

* * *

The quill hovered over the scrap of paper, indecision giving Marinette pause. If she adjusted the waist to sit higher, the sectioned cape would have more space to unfold. Then it would better mimic a butterfly's delicate wings, golden bands trailing behind the dress of pure white.

She waited too long, and a drop of ink spilled, ruining her design.

With a heavy sigh, the seamstress folded the sketch and put it next to all her other failed ideas.

If only she knew the Prince's eye color. That would surely give her creation the final touch it needed. However, all her inquiries had only led her to more confusion than before.

Alya assured her that the Prince's eyes were as golden as his hair, and yet Rose, her next-door neighbor, swore that they were _pink_. Juleka vowed they were black as night and Mylene said they shone with all the colors of the rainbow.

Strangely enough, it was Mylene's outlandish suggestion that had Marinette increasingly convinced. Not only would it befit a man like the Prince to have such magical eyes, it was the only thing that could explain why everyone had their own firm opinions on this topic.

So she'd stuck to white and gold, a classically regal combination. The Prince's hair and sigil. And yet, no matter how hard she tried, working deep into the second night in a row, the seamstress had not been able to create something worthy of his magnificence.

Marinette sighed unhappily

A thud rang out behind her, and she jumped, spilling more ink. She whirled around and inhaled sharply. Her cramped room was just below the roof, leading to a small balcony she'd filled to the brim with flower pots, for Marinette loved all things green and growing.

"Oh no," she whispered, and hurried over. A black cat lay curled up next to shattered ceramic, the poor dear appearing to have mistimed a leap and rammed against one of her heavier pots. "Kitty, are you hurt?"

She gingerly held out a hand, the wary creature's dazed eyes focusing on it. Its whiskers twitched, as did the little nose, taking in her scent.

"I won't hurt you," Marinette promised in a soft voice, not wanting to spook it. Cats were notoriously skittish animals, after all.

Not this one, though.

Its pupils grew wide and round. Without hesitation, it pressed its muzzle into her open palm, rubbing against it. Marinette bit her lip to keep from grinning, curling her fingers around the cat's waist.

It didn't fight her at all, appearing more than happy to be picked up and cradled to her chest. Beneath all that black fluff, the cat was quite lean, muscles and bones shifting under her touch as it writhed against her, and she carried it inside.

* * *

The woman smelled _amazing_. Like all his favorite spices rolled into one. He pressed his nose against her skin and inhaled. Some foreign sensation erupted in his chest, making him quiver and spill a soothing noise.

"Oh, aren't you sweet?"

Not as sweet as her voice. Her skilled fingers were stroking his fur, his neck, hitting all the tense spots just right.

Adrien couldn't remember the last time he'd been embraced like this. Perhaps never.

So he forced his eyes open, focusing on the woman's face. She had raven hair – a rare coloring – and blue eyes like the sky. Her features were unusual, though he couldn't quite put a paw on what made them so. Perhaps it was the shape of her eyes, so subtly slanted, or her nose, so small and delicate. Did it really matter when all of it hit him like a punch in the gut?

"Would you like to be my Princess?"

The stupid words his brain coughed up to impress her turned into a drawn-out _meow_. Thank the Gods.

She smiled at him and it was like being bathed in moonlight, warm and pleasantly prickly. He curled up in her arms and did not take his eyes off her while she petted him. Her touch was gentle, yet firm – probing and searching. Checking for injuries? He was fine. Chat Noir, Lord of the Night, would not be felled by a mere flower pot.

He let her set him down on her bed, only vaguely aware of how threadbare it was, his attention absorbed by her scratches. First behind his ears, then moving to his chin, his chest scruff, his belly. The prince slipped his mind and he was reduced to being nothing more than a cat, purring in her lap while she whispered sweet, meaningless words.

Chat didn't mind.

The dark memories that had threatened to pull him under were far away now.

But then she stopped.

He lodged a complaint in the form of an outraged meow when she pushed him from her lap and moved to get up. Chat had not given her permission to just _stop_. How dare she!

The woman had the audacity to grin and touch her fingertip to his nose, pressing down for but a moment. Then she turned away.

Chat Noir jumped on her back. She squeaked and wiggled as his claws dug into her dress. He climbed up on her shoulder and wrapped himself around her like a scarf. Then he meowed in her ear.

 _Pet me, woman._

She ignored his command, picking him up by the scruff of his neck and setting him down on the bed. "No," she said firmly, and poked his nose again.

The sheer _indignity_.

He glowered at her back as she walked away from him, tail lashing back and forth in irritation. Yes, he'd wanted people to be able to say no to him, but that didn't mean he actually wanted to hear it! Chat was adorable, damn it, how was she resisting him?

Remnants of his other half fought their way to the forefront of his mind.

She was resisting him.

Adrien was with a beautiful woman who was treating him with affection on her terms. He grew very still, only the very tip of his tail twitching. Yes, he'd like to be able to talk, to ask her name, impress her with his wit, but… this was _something_ , wasn't it? Something he'd longed for.

Perhaps bargaining with Misfortune had not been a failure after all.

But how to get her attention for more? She'd walked to her desk, was gathering papers and putting away quills and ink. When she extinguished the lone flickering candle, he realized what was happening.

She was getting ready to go to sleep.

No! Not yet!

As tempting as the thought of curling up beside her was, he could not risk falling asleep and waking up as someone else. Chat Noir's realm was the night, he wouldn't exist once dawn crept through the windows.

He swiveled his head, looking for anything at all that would help keep her awake with him. Only then did he realize that he'd managed to land in Elysium.

She was a seamstress, this much was obvious. Rolls of different fabrics lined the wall, the small room filled to the brim with all manner of tools for the trade. His gaze locked onto a swaying scrap of ribbon, haphazardly tied around the waist of a shabby mannequin.

Then he spotted the ball of yarn.

Chat pounced, his paw knocking it away to send it bouncing around the room. Naturally, he gave chase, not caring when he rammed into cloth rolls, knocking them over, or when he didn't quite stick his landing and skidded into the desk, making the frail thing wobble.

"No!"

He looked up, his paws tangled in the red string he was chewing on.

She was glaring at him, raking her fingers through her long hair in frustration, and a moment later he realized why. He'd spilled an ink pot and run through it, traipsing little black paw prints over half her fabrics.

The woman scooped him up into her arms – success! – and then unceremoniously carried him back to the balcony – no!

"Sorry, kitty. I can't have you destroying my livelihood while I sleep."

The door slammed shut, leaving him locked out.

He yowled.

She cruelly ignored his pleas.

Ears drooping, he consulted his human half about what he'd done wrong. He'd damaged some of her fabrics, yes. Were those fabrics expensive? The patterns had been plain, the cloth of poor quality. Hardly something worth making a fuss over.

But then, she was a woman with no husband to share her bed, and lived in an impoverished part of the capital. Perhaps she could ill afford to lose those materials. His tail whipped anxiously as guilt bubbled up.

Tomorrow, the prince would order a batch of uniforms for his servants from her and offer a generous price. Yes. That would more than make up for any damage he might have done her purse.

The problem thus solved, Chat's ears perked up. He let out one more plaintive meow.

But she didn't open her home to him again, so he went to explore the rest of his territory.

* * *

Chat Noir leapt onto the richly decorated marble, easily balancing on the railing of the prince's balcony. After one last look to his beloved moon, he sauntered inside. Jumping on the grand bed, he curled up on the pillow, settling in to sleep after a long and fruitful night.

Adrien dreamed of a woman with almond-shaped eyes, a kind voice and soft hands.

Dawn woke him, the palace stirring to life with it.

The prince cracked open an eye to see the sun's rays creeping over the edge of the bed. Where it touched him, his handsome fur gave way to naked skin. He gingerly moved his arm into the light, fascinated by the way the black hairs dissolved into bright sparkles.

After examining the state of his limbs – human, with some remaining black fuzz – he gingerly set his two legs on the floor. Then he pushed himself up and walked to the balcony's open doors, standing before the threshold to bathe in sunlight.

So.

He'd turned into a cat.

That was a thing that had happened.

Should he be losing his composure? It seemed like the sort of thing that should provoke a reaction. Lamentations, wailing, grief over his lost humanity.

But Adrien was – not quite happy, but content. He was used to magic disrupting his life. Last night had been _fun_. The only spots of despair had been caused by reminders of his human existence. The cat had not a care in the world past chasing whatever caught its attention.

Still.

His easy acceptance struck him as unnatural.

 _Altered irrevocably_ , the spirit had said. How much had he been changed that the thought " _Black magic turned me into a cat_ " inspired nothing in him but a vague feeling of " _Well, if I'm going to be turned into anything, it ought to be that."_

Time to assess the extent of the damage he'd done to himself.

Upon facing the mirror, his gaze moved first to his ears. Normal human ears, the tips as round as they should be. Yet he knew his hearing had been transformed. A palace was a busy place, its days filled with the low hum of servants and nobles running about. But he should _not_ be able to hear the clang of metal pots from all the way up here. The kitchen was two floors below.

He proceeded with his self-inspection. No tail, nor fur. Not even an increase in beard growth past his morning stubble. Adrien breathed a sigh of relief upon confirming that his form, at least, was still entirely human.

Then he froze.

Vibrant green eyes stared back at him.

When people under the yoke of his charm looked into his eyes, they invariably saw their favorite color. A rather subtle effect of his blessing that Adrien had only learned of when his favorite bard had written a ballad dedicated to his supposedly purple eyes.

This had ignited a feud with a poet who, after lovingly describing the way the prince's eyes shimmered like gold, had inserted all sorts of jabs at the musician, calling him as foolish as a stone. Once ignited, the debate had not died down, soon spreading over the entire realm.

In truth, Adrien had inherited his father's icy blue gaze.

Except not anymore.

…ah well. It wasn't like anyone would notice.

He gazed down at the ring, twisting the silver. Would it turn black come sunset? Did he want another adventure like this or set it aside?

"Where's my cheese, warlock?" Misfortune said, sitting atop his nightstand.


	7. Chapter 7

Adrien stared at the cat for a long moment. There was not a hint of oozing shadows to be found. In daylight, Misfortune looked like any other black cat, although his fur was not as majestically fluffy as Chat's had been.

Except _he_ could talk.

How unfair.

"Where were you last night, spirit?"

The cat licked its paw. "No rest for the wicked, warlock. I'm a busy spirit, I have things to do, people to curse, payments to collect. I held up my end of the bargain, now you hold up yours."

"Did you?" Adrien said snidely. "You promised to turn me into some- _one_ , not some- _thing_ else. I expected to trade in _some_ humanity, not all of it!"

Black ears flattened, and some new instinct inside of Adrien screamed _danger_. "Are you trying to weasel your way out of giving me my due?"

"No." Adrien ran his fingers through his hair, gaze darting to the mirror. Yes, his eyes were identical to those of Misfortune. In fact – he squinted. Not just the color had changed, the pupils had subtly narrowed, too. Not as much as the cat's but the black of his eyes was now more of an oval than a circle. "You'll get your cheese, spirit, that's not the issue."

The tension in the cat's body released, and it resumed grooming its paw. "Good. Many of my summoners have tried to betray me, and it did not end well for any of them. There is no escape when Misfortune stalks your steps, warlock."

Adrien frowned. "Wait. If there's ever a day I don't have any cheese on me, nor any way to get it, and you come knocking, you'll – what will you do to me if that happens?"

"I am not unreasonable," said the cat. "Make a good faith effort to pay me, and I'll forgive the occasional delay." It grinned wide, baring sharp teeth. "Just make sure to keep it _occasional_. I won't trade a lifetime's supply away out of impatience. But if I grow unhappy with our arrangement, I might end it prematurely just to be rid of you."

"Understood," Adrien said flatly. "Now back to last night, you _said_ –"

"I _said_ that there would be unintended side effects. Cease your whining. Didn't you have fun last night? I felt it, you know. We are bonded now. You were _very_ happy at one point."

His cheeks flushed. "Well, I would have been happier had I been able to talk!"

The spirit blinked, taken aback. Then it laughed. "Warlock, I thought you were stronger than that. I gave you but a sliver."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you rolled over without a fight." Misfortune cackled. "If you let my essence overwhelm you, that's entirely your fault, not mine."

Adrien grew still, twisting the ring on his finger. "Wait. So – hypothetically speaking… how much of my humanity could I retain during my transformation?"

"Assuming a new moon, when my power is weakest? Almost all of it, I'd say. You'd be a human with some feline traits."

Truly? Excitement thrummed in Adrien's veins. If he mastered the transformation, Chat Noir would be able to talk to people. Without thinking, he yanked the black cat close to his chest, hugging it tightly. It yowled and, like a ghost, slipped out of his arms.

"Gross, warlock, _gross_. Don't do that."

"Well, _I_ enjoyed the scratches. And that surely wasn't coming from my human half."

Misfortune huffed. "Don't get any ideas. You haven't even come close to earning the right to scratch these ears of mine."

The prince smiled brightly. "Well, then let's start working on that."

* * *

The warlock was a strange creature.

For one, Plagg was growing increasingly convinced that he had _no_ idea he was a warlock. His magic just kept spilling out of him with no effort made to contain it, washing over every room he entered like a tidal wave. Enslaved humans turned toward him as one, puppets whose strings were being expertly pulled.

Or rather, whose strings were being not-so-expertly tripped over.

The warlock stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the hungry eyes on him, but there was no way he could be unaware of such an extreme reaction.

No wonder he'd never discovered his talents when all of them went toward maintaining an enchantment he hated.

 _Tikki, why would you do this?_

Misfortune and Lady Luck had not spoken to each other since the mermaid incident, some four decades past by human reckoning. They had these spats every now and then, usually when one of Tikki's Blessed crossed one of Plagg's Cursed and they ended up ruining each other's plans. A reconciliation was overdue, and Plagg had the sinking feeling that he was sabotaging it by interfering with this warlock.

But curiosity was his bane.

The warlock pushed open a set of doors, and was greeted by the sound of shattering glass, a multitude of plates cluttering to the floor as the entire kitchen staff froze.

"I need cheese," he said airily. "Lots of it. Preferably the _gooey stuff_."

When the humans scattered and a few moments later a veritable mountain of cheese started to take form in front of him, Plagg's eyes watered.

This was the _best_ bargain he'd ever struck.

* * *

Marinette bit her lip as she stared at the handwritten sign, tallying up the cost of replacing what she'd lost last night.

As cute as the cat had been, she really should _not_ have let it inside. Now she was paying the price for letting herself be tempted. Literally. She laid the silver coin on the table, and gathered the two plain rolls of fabric to her chest.

Where was that legendary good luck now when she needed it?

Maybe it had all been a bedtime story after all.

"Thank you, dear," said Madame Bustier, the kind woman operating the weaver's stand. "Come visit this Sunday, we'll be getting a new shipment of fine silks soon."

Marinette forced her mouth into a smile. "Ah, that sounds lovely, but a bit out of my price range, I think."

The redhead's gentle eyes softened. "We give discounts to regular customers who've proven themselves trustworthy. Some silk accessories will give your dresses a special touch, they'll be sure to sell well. We can arrange giving you a little advance."

Bluebell eyes grew wide. "Truly?"

"Truly." The older woman smiled kindly. "I know how hard it is for a woman alone to establish a business in a new city, with no family or husband to aid her. Us widows must stick together, no?"

Marinette's smile froze as horrible guilt choked her throat.

She was no widow. Her late husband was naught but a figment of her imagination, bearing a name she'd shamelessly stolen from the sweet neighbor boy in the small village she'd grown up in.

According to the tale Marinette had spread far and wide upon her arrival in the capital, Nathaniel Dupain had been tragically felled by a fever at the tender age of nineteen, leaving Marinette to make her own way in the world.

Being a widow was respectable, the kind of tragic backstory that would not get her shunned in her new community. The truth would only stir rumors about what manner of wickedness a young, pretty girl had gotten herself entangled in to have been cast out by her family.

But it was one thing for Marinette to safeguard her fledgling reputation and another entirely to profit from her lie.

"I appreciate the generous offer," she said slowly. "But I try to avoid debt when possible."

Madame Bustier nodded. "A wise decision I applaud. But I'd not charge you with interest, dear. Consider it an investment in a budding business partnership."

"I'll think about it," Marinette said, flashing her a brilliant smile and hurrying away.

And nearly bumped into Alya, who was evidently in the process of her daily supply run to the grocer's section of the market.

"Good morn', Marinette," her friend greeted her with a smile.

Marinette grew still. That was not Alya's broad grin, just a pale shadow of its usual exuberance. A closer look at the woman revealed red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh no," she said softly. "Did things with your beau not go well?"

Alya sniffed. "Forget him. He is beneath me." Her eyes fixed on the cloth in Marinette's arms and she tilted her head. "More for your collection? Should you not first use up your supplies before you start buying more?"

Marinette sighed deeply. "A cat got in through the balcony and now I have to replace some of it."

Hazel eyes narrowed. "Was it a black cat?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Close your balcony door, then, or it'll come back." She angrily wiped at her eyes. "And black cats are nothing but bad luck."

* * *

"So what's your name, spirit?"

Plagg stirred from his food coma, tail twitching.

"I'm not telling you, warlock. Names have power." Not that the man would know what to do with it.

"Well, I'm going to need to call you something if you're going to follow me around during the daytime." The blond steepled his fingers. "Last chance to tell me your name before I give you one."

"Piss off."

"Alright, Sir Pounce-A-Lot."

"I _will_ disembowel you."

Green eyes gleamed with mischief, and somewhere in his cold, black heart, Misfortune felt pride stir at this man's sheer nerve, to taunt him like this. No wonder he was taking so well to merging with Plagg's essence.

Or maybe it was just said shared essence making the spirit unusually sentimental.

"How about Meowphistopheles?"

Plagg hissed. It might have been more threatening if he hadn't been lying on his back, all four paws in the air, unable to turn over thanks to a bloated belly. "Have you no survival instinct at all, warlock?"

"I do." The human's lips twitched in amusement. "They're just somewhat atrophied. You know, you can call me Adrien. I'm not a warlock."

Misfortune rolled his eyes at the man's ignorance of his own nature.

"I'll call you whatever I want."

"Then I'll return the courtesy, _Cataclysm_."

Huh. Plagg liked the sound of that.

The warlock cocked his head, green gaze swiveling to the doors. Footsteps were headed their way, not far from the warlock's chambers now. Yes, the human was adjusting quite well to his new senses, already able to pick up on which bits of the symphony were worth paying attention to.

"Your Grace."

A wave of sheer hatred hit Plagg through the faint bond, and he flopped over to take a look at the intruder. Oh, what a _gorgeous_ curse had been woven around this one. The black-haired man held out a letter to the warlock.

"A message from your father. He wishes to inquire why you did not answer his last missive."

Had Plagg not felt it through that newly forged connection, he'd never have suspected that the warlock was filled with despair and loathing at this moment. Adrien smiled and was quite gentle when he plucked the folded paper from the cursed human's grasp.

"Thank you, Nino."

Bowing stiffly, the servant walked away without another word.

The warlock's smile slipped as soon as the body once called Nino was out of sight.

"Why do you bother? He can't see your courtesy."

The sharp green gaze fixed on Misfortune, pupils narrowing. "Do you recognize the curse put on him, spirit?"

"That's the Bound Oblivion."

"Can you–" The warlock cleared his throat. "Can you break it? I'd be willing to bargain for more cheese, or whatever it is you want."

"I can break the shackles dragging him around, sure. If you want him to drop dead. That man was murdered, and his chains are the only thing keeping him upright."

* * *

 _My son,_

 _Time is of the essence, and we cannot afford to waste it. We_ _must_ _press our advantage. Have you selected one of the three strategies I laid out in my last letter?_

 _Signed,_

 _Gabriel Agreste, Fourth of His Name, King of the Realm and Shield of the Dawn_

* * *

 _My dearest father,_

 _No._

 _Signed,_

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm, Sword of the Dawn, Lady Luck's Blessed and Freshly Minted Cheese Connoisseur_

* * *

 _My son,_

 _Must we have this argument again? I know you are tired and wish to rest after your victory, but the five kingdoms have been shattered for centuries. Uniting them will be a grand undertaking and we've only just cleared the first hurdle._

 _Signed,_

 _King Gabriel Agreste, Fourth of His Name, King of the Realm and Shield of the Dawn_

* * *

 _My dearest father,_

 _I'll fight your wars if you give me back my favorite servant. He's not your errand boy._

 _Signed,_

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm, Sword of the Dawn, Lady Luck's Blessed, Misfortune's Cursed, Cheese Connoisseur and Avenger of Akumas_

* * *

 _Adrien, stop being stubborn. The boy is gone, I've acknowledged my error, now let us focus on what matters. These are not_ _my_ _wars, they are_ _ours_ _. Let the past be the past, and keep your eyes on our cause._

 _Signed, King Gabriel et cetera_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _Nino mattered._

 _If I am to conquer more lands for you, you can come ask me in person._

 _And say please._

* * *

 _My beloved father,_

 _You can send more Akumas to punish me for my insolence if you wish. I scarcely felt it, and it changes nothing._

 _Signed,_

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm, Sword of the Moon, Lady Luck's Blessed, Misfortune's Cursed, Cheese Connoisseur, Avenger of Akumas and Slayer of Mages_

* * *

"Explain to me why you didn't just eviscerate them. Shouldn't be hard for you, warlock."

"Their will is not their own, it'd be cruel to hurt them for something they can't help. And I'm still not a warlock, Bartholomeow."

Adrien peered over his shoulder at the mirror, gently dabbing the angry red welts with cloth soaked in liquor. Already the marks on his back were fading, his beauty never tarnished for long. Father appeared to believe that just because the surface wounds vanished fast, the pain did also, and calibrated his discipline accordingly.

But Adrien would feel the sting of the flogging for at least a fortnight.

He'd tried drawing his father's attention to the disparity as a boy, but the king had made it clear that he was to bear the pain like a man. Trying to escape his punishments by whining only made them harsher.

And spilling tears doubled them.

"Do you think that the likes of _me_ can be summoned by ordinary humans?"

Adrien frowned at the spirit watching him. With the sunlight receding, the cat's fur had blackened, and its eyes begun glowing. Nobody would mistake this walking void for an ordinary cat now. Adrien suspected that it would start oozing shadows any minute.

"Well, anyone can follow instructions in a book and draw a circle."

The spirit snorted.

"Yes, and they'd have summoned some lesser fae. But you got _me_. The finest and greatest of my brethren. I admit, it's why I'm being so generous with you. My summoners are usually _steeped_ in black magic, having traded parts of their soul for power long before they met me. Their punishments are well-earned. But _you_ …" The spirit cackled. "Unicorns would flock to you. You're an innocent little virgin."

Adrien's cheek flushed with heat. "Not for lack of opportunity," he said defensively. "I _choose_ to be chaste."

"Oh, virgin." The spirit's eyes sparkled. "I'll enjoy corrupting you."

That should be Adrien's sign to _never_ put the ring on again. Resist temptation and find a more virtuous path to happiness.

But what if there was none?

What if _this_ was all his existence would ever be?

It was hardly virtuous to walk through life enslaving people. He was no innocent. His father had made him swing the sword on condemned prisoners starting when he'd been thirteen years old. To harden his heart for the wars to come.

Adrien had vomited after his first beheading, right on the poor man's corpse. Yes, the man had been a criminal who'd earned his death sentence, but he hadn't deserved the desecration.

To his father's dismay, Adrien was _soft_.

His defiance was smoke and mirrors, for it never lasted. The prince would bend long before the old king did. Only the fresh anger over his horse master's loss had Adrien standing firm, reignited by meeting the woman he hadn't known was waiting for Nino.

But that would fade in time.

When Adrien had taken revenge on one of the mages, he'd vowed that he would have no part in the war. But in the end, he'd done his duty. Adrien had told himself that it was only because war had already been declared and would have ended in bloodshed without his intervention.

In truth, he'd bent the knee before his father's iron will.

Lessons learned over many years were whispering in his ear, chipping away at his resistance. _It was only a servant. They exist to live and die for their liege. Nino's sacrifice was voluntary. He died happy. Father apologized. What's one life for a noble cause? The kingdoms need to be reunited._

Adrien rolled the ring between his fingertips, quietly watching it blacken along with the sky.

 _Don't you want to make father proud?_

 _Yes, let's._

"So, any advice on how to keep from being overwhelmed?"

The spirit yawned, flashing a multitude of sharp teeth. "It will be easier with no full moon. It's a battle, so treat it like one. Identify what is worth sacrificing and where to stand your ground." It hopped off the bed and stretched, trailing blackness behind. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm being summoned. I'll be back for more cheese."

The black cat winked out of existence, like it had never been there at all.

Adrien's gaze wandered to his balcony. Best not spread himself thin and keep the number of frontlines to a minimum. What was most important for him to retain?

His ability to talk, that was the key. Opposable thumbs and standing on two legs was optional. Although he would prefer a human-ish shape.

Adrien took a deep breath and, with those thoughts firmly in mind, slipped the black ring onto his finger.

He undressed himself, neatly folding his clothes and setting them down on the bed, waiting for the transformation to being. He glanced at the mirror, his green eyes aglow, and shuddered when a compulsion ran down his spine.

 _Bend the knee. Down on all fours where you belong._

It _was_ so much more comfortable that way, wasn't it? He crouched low, but then paused. Why limit himself like that? Versatility was useful. How fun would it be to switch seamlessly between two and four?

Black fur was spreading up his arms and he let it, flexing his fingers. He'd keep those, too, keep the reach of his claws long. When the fur grew past his elbows and started creeping toward his shoulders, he slowed its advance. As handsome as it was, it couldn't be allowed to strangle his voice.

When the split mind's battle over his body drew to a close, Chat Noir unsteadily rose to his feet. He opened solid green eyes and grinned at his reflection, revealing small fangs.

 _Look at your son now, father. Aren't you proud of what I've made of myself?_

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

First of all, thank you for all the lovely reviews you've given me so far. Your feedback is invaluable to me and absolutely makes my day.

There were some questions regarding Adrien's eye color change, so I figured I'd clarify: Adrien sees himself in the mirror exactly as he is. I'm somewhat building canon!Adrien from the ground up - without his blessing he would not be beautiful, without his curse he would not have green eyes and without his charm-induced isolation, he wouldn't be so convinced that puns are the height of wit.


	8. Chapter 8

Marinette pursed her lips, staring at the ruined fabric.

In a way, the inky paw prints were almost _cute_. Surely there was some way to salvage this? Cut it in the shape of strategically placed accessories to give her dresses a playful touch? She brightened at the thought, and moments later, her quill was scraping on paper, sketching possible paw print designs.

That was the blessing of the Cheng women, after all. When misfortune got the better of them, their Lucky Charm was sure to turn the situation into an opportunity. The harder they fell, the higher they rose in the aftermath.

And after falling for two years, Marinette's good luck was long overdue.

A thud rang out behind her.

So.

Just as Alya had predicted, the black cat was back. But contrary to her advice, Marinette had no intention of turning it away. It was unlike her clever friend to be so superstitious, and Marinette did not share the prejudice.

Yes, replacing what the cat had destroyed was straining her purse, but the little thing had clung to her so sweetly, starved for affection, that she found it difficult to be mad. It couldn't help its playful nature. Marinette had even bartered with a fisher on the market for some leftovers to feed the animal.

She turned around to greet it with a bright smile.

And froze.

 _That's not a cat_ , some part of her stunned mind pointed out.

Yes, it had the ears, and a tail swishing back and forth, but the creature was _enormous_ , as big as a man. It – _he_ was leaning against the doorframe of her balcony, watching her with eerily glowing green eyes. His gloved hands were crossed in front of his bare chest. No, not gloved – the arms were covered with black fur almost up to his shoulders.

He wore black pants, but no boots, his feet more like paws.

Marinette opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She wasn't even sure what sound she was trying to make. A scream?

But that was curiosity in his gaze, not malice.

 _There's a beast in your room and you're trying to analyze its mood instead of running._

The voice of reason sounded suspiciously like Alya.

Suddenly, he moved, leaping on her bed and crouching on all fours. Shimmering gold spilled onto the worn-down linen, a small satchel of coins dropped by his claws.

"I did damage to your livelihood." The voice was like silk, a deep, soothing baritone. "If this is not enough, I'll get more."

A high-pitched squeal of distress finally made it out of Marinette's mouth, and his eyes widened. He crossed the distance between them in a blink of an eye, but then hesitated, stopping a few feet away from her with his palms raised.

"Please don't be scared."

He had claws, long and sharp.

But there were – there were little pink pads on his fingertips, surrounded by black. Like beans. The sight of them turned her budding wail into a hysterical giggle. His inhuman eyes were wide, expression somewhere between hope and fear, and the idea that this huge creature might somehow be _scared_ of her was almost reassuring.

His face was half-covered by black fur, yet it spared his jaw and mouth, almost making it seem like he was wearing a black domino mask. Once the comparison crossed her mind, it was like her entire perception flipped, and she found herself staring at a man's face. A furry one around the eyes, yes, but human all the same.

Handsome, even.

"Who are you?"

His lips curved into a tentative grin, exposing teeth that were too sharp. "I'm Chat Noir. What's your name?"

"I'm Marinette," her manners answered for her.

"Marinette." He breathed her name with reverence, the tip of his bushy tail twitching. Then he swept into a formal bow, although his green eyes never left her face. "The Lord of Night is at your service, my Lady."

Hysterical laughter bubbled up once again. She was no Lady, her father a mere baker.

He tilted his head, puzzlement on his strange features, but then he smiled again.

Silence descended, neither of them quite knowing what to do with the other.

* * *

Adrien was used to being stared at.

Not like this, though.

He expected slack-jawed amazement, yes. Mindless devotion, sure. Even politely ignoring some drool was part of his standard repertoire.

But dread? Horror? She was still gawking at him with wide eyes, likely on the verge of screaming. He'd thought being able to use words would be the key to forging a friendship, but somehow being more human had resulted in a worse outcome. His appearance was unnatural, he supposed, to those not used to magic, but overall, he _still_ looked adorable. At least to his eyes.

 _Pet me, woman?_

Somehow, he didn't think she'd be receptive to that suggestion.

Chat Noir had come here with a plan. First, he would present the gold, to make up for what he'd destroyed last night. Then they'd banter, become great friends, and it would all end with him purring in her lap. But he was starting to realize that there was a rather glaring blank spot in the middle, right around the ' _and then they'd become friends'_ -part.

How did one make friends?

He cleared his throat.

Time for his personality to shine. He was charming, was he not? Surely it was not _all_ compulsion. Yes. He was _witty_. Hilarious, even.

"Forgive me for intruding, but I could not wait to see you again. Not after you so boldly rescued me from that fiendish flowerpot." He smiled winningly, ears perking. "I hope I'm not interrupting any other _plants_ for the night."

One of her eyelids twitched.

Was that good? Bad? She still wasn't answering.

No way but forward. He sauntered closer. She stood frozen, not backing away, and he gently curled a claw under her chin to tip it up.

"Cat got your tongue?"

She shoved him. A fierce blush was staining her pale cheeks.

"Put a shirt on!"

He pouted, glancing down to his bare abdomen. Chat's fur hadn't spread past his limbs, and his chest was perfectly human save for that trail of black fuzz running down from his belly button.

"Why? Don't you like what you see?"

Another shove, this one harder, and her blush deepened as her eyes darted everywhere but to him. "Have some modesty."

A slow grin spread across his lips.

"I'm a cat," he said. "We have no such thing."

Yes, he was magnificent, and he made no secret of it. And she saw it, too. The thought of _her_ gazing at him with desire made his insides sing. Even in this form…

Hm. Even in this form.

His tail lashed back and forth. The other woman he'd helped through the maze had also been unusually trusting of him. But Misfortune had _promised_ him his blessing was tied to his other half, not Chat Noir.

He did not get to worry about that further, because suddenly a great big tent enveloped his head. Chat yowled and sprang back, dragging the cloth off. A dress? She'd just shoved a _dress_ on him?

Her face was as red as the ribbons in her hair. "What in the seven hells are you and what do you want from me?"

Chat Noir blinked, then grinned at her tone. Yes, not affected by his blessing, thank the Gods. "As I said. I'm a cat." _And cats don't wear clothes._ He'd compromised enough with the pants, and even that was too restrictive for Chat Noir's taste, constricting the range of his tail's movement.

"You are very clearly _not_ a cat." Her hands were a blur as she frantically gestured to all of him. "You – you're way too big, and, and – you can talk!"

"So I can. I worked hard to gain this form. Struck a bargain, mastered some magic." His gaze softened. "I wanted to be able to thank you in person."

The woman – _Marinette_ – bit her lower lip, blue eyes widening. "You're the cat. From last night. And you… you struck a bargain to turn yourself human? To talk to _me_?"

Well, she had it backwards, but it was as good a story as any. It was much easier to explain why a cat would strive for humanity than the other way around. And Misfortune had warned him not to say _anything_ about the prince, not even his name. Especially not his name. If he built a connection in her mind between the old self and the new, the blessing might start leaking through the bridge.

But while some deception was necessary, he would still strive for honesty when possible. He did not wish to build friendships entirely on lies.

"I've watched people all my life, wishing I could join them," he said softly. His tail swished and he glanced at it, resisting the impulse to groom it. Instead, he caught it in his hands and calmed himself by petting the end of it. "The way I look is not _ideal_ , I know. But I mean no harm. I only seek to make friends." He paused and smiled. "Marinette."

* * *

The man-cat-creature was staring at her with big, hopeful eyes.

His black ears almost brushed the slanted ceiling, her cramped lodgings cheap for being directly beneath the roof. Standing over a foot taller than her, he likely outweighed her twice over. A warrior's build, all lean muscle, armed with fang and claw. He could tear her to pieces, and she'd not be able to fight him off.

So how did he manage to be this _cute_?

But that sweet demeanor could be a ruse to draw her in.

 _Black cats are bad luck._ Marinette had not paid heed to the superstition, but this was a _magical_ black cat that had fixated on her somehow. That could not possibly be a good thing. Was her Lucky Charm strong enough to counter _this_?

 _Some bargains are worth the price,_ a faint memory whispered in her ear.

Marinette's mother had told her that.

And then she'd died.

As her silence stretched on, the black ears drooped, as did the creature's shoulders.

"Are you afraid of denying me?"

 _Yes._

He must have read the truth in her face, for the light of his green eyes dimmed. Then the pupils narrowed, and he jerked his chin toward the bed, toward the coin purse he'd dropped there. "For last night," he said flatly and turned to leave.

Her eyes widened.

A narrow strip of black fur ran from his nape to his tail, but that was not what drew her attention. Red welts covered his bare skin, half-healed scars crisscrossing all over his upper back.

Before Marinette was quite aware of it, she'd crossed the distance between them to brush her fingertips along his fuzzy spine.

"What happened to you, kitty?"

He glanced back over his shoulder and followed her gaze. "It's nothing. It'll heal."

She'd felt nothing of this when she'd stroked his fur last night, but it had to have happened weeks ago. Marinette swallowed heavily. It was not unusual for people to try to kill a black cat they crossed path with to ward off their supposed bad luck.

"Come," she whispered, her fingertips brushing his as she entwined her hand with his claws. His ears perked up at once and he let himself be led back to her bed, utterly docile. "Sit."

Amusement played with the corners of his lips. "I'm a cat, not a dog." But he stayed where he was all the same, watching Marinette with curiosity as she bent to retrieve her mother's healing supplies.

She'd been a wise woman, educated in a far-away land on herbs and remedies not found in the realm. Sabine had passed some rudimentary understanding of the healing arts on to her daughter but had perished before Marinette's education could be finished. These pastes and poultices were all that was left of her tremendous gift. Once used up, Marinette had no way to replenish them.

He leaned forward as she sat down next to her, sniffing the ointment. Then he sneezed, and she giggled.

"Eyes to the front."

"No, really, it will heal on its own."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Only a little. It's _fine_."

"Then this will help."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she firmly took hold of his shoulder to turn him. His eyelids drooped, fluttering, and he offered no more resistance.

When the cool balm touched one of the red welts, he let out a low sigh of relief.

Strange creature.

But… maybe not a malicious one.

They sat in silence as she brushed her fingers along the wounds. They almost looked like whip marks, yet who would be so cruel as to whip a cat? Even an unlucky one.

A low rumble rose and she paused her ministrations. It was deep and loud, far louder than before, her entire bed quivering with it.

"…are you purring?"

The sound cut off. "Your hands are soft."

Her cheeks caught fire again as she suddenly grew aware of the intimacy. Yes, he was a cat, but – he looked a lot like a man, too. A shirtless man. In her bed.

If anyone ever found out about this, Marinette's reputation would be ruined.

He was grinning at her over his shoulder, his tail brushing her thigh. "So, a seamstress _and_ a healer. How _furr_ -tunate of me to land on such an interesting woman's balcony. Tell me more of yourself."

"I'm boring," she blurted out. "Completely ordinary girl with an ordinary life."

"That smells like a lie to me, my Lady," he purred.

"I'm not a Lady."

"But I am a Lord. Lord of Night. If I wish to make you my Lady, I can."

"That's not how nobility works, cat."

"It does if I say it does. I'm in charge of these things." He grinned like he'd just made a hilarious jest.

She rolled her eyes at him, but that seemed to only delight him more.

"Am I _annoying_ you?"

"You're confusing me, odd creature."

"Chat. I'm Chat Noir. Use my name."

He had the arrogant tone of someone used to giving orders. She arched an eyebrow. "Or else what?" _Yes, Marinette, taunt the big cat-man, that will end well for you._

His eerie eyes glittered. "Or else I'll have no choice but to retaliate, sweet Buginette."

She gasped. " _Buginette_?" Was he calling her an _insect_?

"Well, it was something with _-nette_. Oh, if only I could remember. Your human names are so hard."

" _Mari_ nette," she said firmly.

"Chat Noir," he said smugly.

"That's the least creative name you could have chosen for yourself, you know that?"

"Paw-don me, but I have only a feeble kitty mind." His eyes sparkled with intelligence, the mind clearly far from feeble.

"Well, that certainly explains all the puns."

He gasped, outraged. "My puns are clever and hiss-terical!"

"By feeble kitty standards, I imagine they are."

The creature pouted. _Pouted_. He had no right to look this adorable.

The absurdity of the situation hit her, of watching this strange cat-man pouting at her, and she laughed. Laughed and laughed, unable to stop herself.

He brightened at once, another deep rumble rising from his chest.

"You are – you are so ridiculous!"

"No," he said. "I'm _charming_."


	9. Chapter 9

Marinette yawned and Chat's ears drooped.

"You're tired," he murmured.

"Well, someone's keeping me up." The words were chiding, but they hid affection. He was certain of it. Marinette returned his banter, had warmed to him as steadily as his moon took its path across the sky. _More._

"Going to kick me out to the balcony again?" He didn't want to go. His beautiful night had only just begun. But Chat didn't want to cost her sleep, either. His servants were always up so early, and seamstresses were surely no exception.

"Clever kitty. Perhaps your mind is not hopelessly feeble after all." Her gaze flicked to the gold he'd brought her. She reached to gather it up, stuffing it into the purse he'd used to carry it.

Then she held it out to him.

Chat Noir blinked and tilted his head.

"Is it not enough to replace what I've cost you?" He'd estimated, and thought he'd been generous…

Marinette snorted, a most unladylike sound he didn't think he'd ever heard from a woman in his presence before. She was so unguarded around Chat, and he reveled in it. "This is more than I'd make in a year."

Still she held it out to him, and he stared at her in confusion.

Maybe she hadn't heard him when he'd first said it. She'd been frozen in shock at the sight of him, after all. "It's for you."

"I can't accept this, Chat."

"Why not?"

She huffed out a breath. "I just can't. Where'd you even get this, kitty?"

"I have my ways. And I want you to have it."

"It's too much."

"So take half. Or however much you think is appropriate." The paltry sum meant nothing to him, but he understood that Marinette likely had her pride when it came to accepting charity. Nino had been the same way, forever turning down his gifts until ordered not to.

But Marinette shook her head and laid the purse in his lap. He frowned.

"Why won't you take it? I _know_ I've cost you money last night."

"I'd rather have an apology than money, kitty."

His frown deepened. "I _am_ sorry. That's why I brought this."

"Then consider this your first lesson in being human," she said lightly. "Some things can't be replaced, and money won't take make up for it. It's better to not have been carelessly destructive in the first place."

Adrien stared at the infuriating woman. Yes, he was sheltered, but he knew how the human world worked. For all the lies he wove, he wasn't _truly_ a cat, after all. There was scarcely a problem that couldn't be solved by throwing money at it. It was only a question of how much.

"Those fabrics were cheap and low quality, don't tell me they had sentimental value."

A rosy blush spread to her cheeks. "Well, they might have been cheap, but they were mine. _I_ cared for them."

"Lies. They were tools of your trade, nothing more." His eyes narrowed. "What's this really about?"

Marinette fidgeted. "I just can't accept this."

"Why not? It's my gift to you!"

"And I'd be a fool to accept it!"

He reared back, tail lashing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She exhaled wearily, closing her eyes. "Look. Chat Noir. You are a very nice cat-man. But I just don't think accepting gifts from mysterious magical creatures is a good idea. If I was reading about myself in a book, this would be the part where I'd be shouting at myself not to be fooled. To not be tempted by riches and a pretty face. Gifts like these come with strings attached. Some price to pay, most likely in the form of my firstborn. No, thank you."

Well.

He couldn't fault her instincts. Chat Noir _was_ born of dark magic, after all.

But still… "I mean you no harm, Marinette."

"And I would like to believe that, but I've known you all of what, one hour?"

As one, their gazes swung to the clock ticking on the wall. Marinette's lips parted in a silent 'oh' as she realized just how long they'd been talking to each other.

"I understand your concern," he said, and took the purse holding the gold coins from her hand. "And I suppose now I'll have no choice."

"No choice?" she squeaked.

He smiled broadly. "No choice but to come back tomorrow night and offer you my gift again. And the night after that. As many nights as it takes, until you feel comfortable accepting my gift to you."

* * *

Marinette dreamed of golden hair and green eyes.

She woke drenched in sweat, and with a name on her lips, wondering if it had been reality, dream or nightmare.

* * *

Sunlight spilled through the windows and Adrien writhed in it, the last remnants of Chat Noir falling off him. The movement was free of pain, his back completely healed – though his face hurt from a grin so wide it strained his cheeks.

He'd made a friend. A real friend, one who wasn't in any way compelled to like him.

Now he just needed to find the perfect gift for her. One she wouldn't be able to turn down. The realm's treasury was filled to the brim, surely there would be something there she wouldn't be able to resist.

Blackness bubbled up next to his bed just as he was fiddling with the last button of his coat.

"Good morning, Lucifurr," he greeted the cat climbing out of the black liquid. "Your cheese will be brought up shortly."

A tail swished, and ears perked.

"Not bad, warlock. I could get used to you."

"Adrien," the prince insisted.

"Hm." A lick of his paw. "And I have many names. For now, _Kwami_ shall do, if only to stop your abominable puns."

* * *

 _Son,_

 _A secret weapon loses its power when it's uncovered. With every day you delay, our enemies grow stronger, preparing to counter your blessing. Let us not be at odds. Be reasonable and start laying the foundation for our capture of the east._

 _Incorporate the troops provided by General Bourgeois into our own armies. Look closely at his inner circle, and identify the shrewdest, the one they all turn to for guidance. Eliminate him and empower the one vying for his position. Secure the replacement's loyalty even when he is outside the range of your gift. The rest of the circle will follow._

 _Signed,_

 _King Gabriel_

* * *

 _Dearest father,_

 _The answer is still no._

 _Signed,_

 _The man not in the mood to invade a country nor scribble down his whole signature_

* * *

 _I tire of your insolence, Adrien._

* * *

 _I tire of having forgotten what your face looks like._

 _Do you even remember mine?_

* * *

 _You are my son. Never would I forget the face of my heir._

 _Adrien, our separation is as frustrating to me as it is to you. You know why I cannot see you. Never doubt that I want only the best for you. With my guiding hand, history will remember you as the greatest King who ever lived._

 _Your gift gives us the unique opportunity to unite what was broken. Think of future generations, Adrien. The prophecies are clear – the kingdoms_ _will_ _be united one day, and it can either be through devastating bloodshed, or through your silver tongue._

* * *

 _I tire of prophecies and blessings dictating my life, too. Why can't we make our own destiny?_

* * *

 _That is the folly of youth speaking, Adrien. Trust your elders._

 _I, too, once yearned for more than a heavy crown. But men like us are born with a duty we must fulfill. The power the Gods have granted us has a price, and this is it. We govern through providence, and we must live up to it. Our people depend on us to ensure their continued prosperity under the rule of a strong hand._

 _I know my methods may appear harsh, but they are for your own good._

 _If you cannot remember my face, remember this:_

 _You are my legacy to this world. What I do, I do because I love you, my son._

* * *

 _I never asked for this power._

Adrien stared at the childish rebuttal. Then he crumbled the half-written letter, tearing it into thin strips.

Gods, why was arguing with his father so hard? He always ended up feeling like an utterly selfish simpleton. Adrien knew, he _knew_ there were good arguments against an invasion. The kingdoms had split some six centuries past – at some point it was time to let bygones be bygones and realize that all this talk of prophecy might just be the ramblings of delusional madmen.

For every one genuinely gifted seer, there were a hundred charlatans. Last year, some prophetess had predicted he'd take a ladybug for a Queen. It was a ludicrous profession good only for a laugh and the occasional hindsight, nothing more.

He set the quill to the parchment and tried again.

 _Father,_

 _No good will come from antagonizing our neighbors. If we continue our conquests, even countries beyond the five realms will grow restless and fear that they are next. Soon we'll have the entire continent plotting against us._

 _We will unite the kingdoms in trade and alliances. The House of Damocles has no male heir, the line will pass through the princess. We can bind that realm through marriage. You know I can woo her with ease._

 _But first, let us focus on forging our land and our new territories into a cohesive whole. Provide them with the prosperity we owe our subjects. On my journey from the frontlines I've started studying the reports General Bourgeois procured for me, and the southern half of our new lands is in dire economic straits._

 _In love,_

 _Your son._

There. A mature, well-reasoned response.

Though the thought of 'wooing' the princess sat ill. But it was unavoidable, was it not? A royal marriage was ultimately about land and title, not affection. His Queen would submit to her King, bear his heirs and leave the rule to him, as many generations had done before them. If nothing else, his gift would ensure that her duty would be a blissful one.

She'd be happy, and he'd…

Well, he'd have children.

Heirs who would hopefully be unaffected by his blessing. Gods, he prayed they'd be unaffected.

His father had been. For the first eleven years of Adrien's life, he'd been immune. Even now father regained his wits with time and distance whereas others remained enthralled for years after meeting Adrien only once. Shared blood offered _some_ protection – and surely more than that to his own offspring.

Adrien wanted a family.

Gods, how he hated being at odds with his father.

A voice within was screaming to just cut their conflict short and do as he was told, but picturing Nino was all it took to silence that weakness of his. What had his friend died for? Nothing that mattered, as far as Adrien could see. Some lines moved around on a map. Lines which would invariably move again in a few decades.

So pointless.

The afternoon dragged on, filled with all the drudgery of his education and responsibilities, until his father's answer fluttered in through the hands of an Akuma. Adrien sighed softly when he read the single line his father had written in response.

 _Winning a war is the greatest economic boon any country can have._

* * *

"So what do you think?"

Marinette was beaming at her and Alya lowered the sketches in her hands.

"These are lovely designs, Marinette, but…"

She glanced at the material her friend was planning to work with. Yes, the paw print pattern could work and Alya could even see it becoming a fashion. It was an adorable idea sure to be a hit with the upper classes. But not with women who kept their dresses functional, who valued sturdiness and longevity over aesthetics.

The cloths her friends purchased were of the sturdy, practical and _cheap_ variety. No noble woman would buy a dress made of these. Furthermore, the paw prints were smeared and unevenly distributed.

"Did you just… dunk a cat in ink and let them walk all over?"

"What, no, that'd be ridiculous." A pink blush bloomed on Marinette's cheeks. "He did that on his own."

Alya's eyebrows rose so high they nearly vanished in her hairline.

"…alright, out with it."

"What?" Marinette's voice was a squeak.

"You're keeping some secret, I can tell."

"Secret? Me? Why would I be keeping secrets, I mean, that'd be ridiculous – certainly not me, ha! Why would I risk ruining my reputation for a cat, I mean, that'd be the most ridiculous, nonsensical, _ludicrous–"_ She took a deep breath, apparently having run out of air and adjectives at the same time. "–foolish idea of all time, so I wouldn't do that. Ever."

Alya merely tilted her head while Marinette squirmed.

"Alright, but you can't tell anyone!"

There it was. Alya grinned.

"Tell. Me. Everything."

She and Marinette had hit it off almost immediately shortly after the young woman had moved into the neighborhood. And it hadn't taken Alya long at all to spot the discrepancies in her backstory. Promising to keep the Not-Widow's secret had deepened their bond, and they had only grown closer since.

"I mentioned that this black cat landed on my balcony, yes?"

Alya nodded, her lips pursed.

"Well, it's a _magical_ cat."

The redhead closed her eyes and exhaled. That was what she'd feared.

"Please tell me you didn't strike any bargains, accept any gifts or in any way did anything stupid that I'll have to yell at you for," Alya said dryly.

"No! I mean, he brought me a gift, but…" Marinette drew her shoulders back. "…I rejected it."

"Good." If only Alya could boast of having had the sense to reject the cat's offer, too.

Marinette stuck out her tongue. Then she grew still, fidgeting. "I think he might come back." Long pause, and then she whispered. "I think I want him to come back, Alya."

"Marinette."

"I know, I _know_. Black Magic, black cats, it's bad. But – he was so _nice_ , Alya."

Yes, he'd been _nice_ to her, too. And led her to heartbreak. Alya's eyes narrowed. "When do you think he'll come back?"

"This night? Maybe? He said something about being Lord of Night, so…"

Said? As in, _talk_? "Well, that settles it." Alya set the papers aside, gently smoothing her friend's designs. "I'll stay the night and make sure you don't do anything stupid. Got any spare pillows?"

* * *

The night washed over Chat Noir, and finding his equilibrium was much simpler this time around, though by no means easy. He was panting by the time the shudders subsided, absently grooming his paw still if only to give his cat half some measure of victory. A defeated foe only ever rose stronger and more desperate to win, but one that felt triumphant grew complacent.

Best not to think of it in terms of winner and losers.

There was only him, Chat Noir, a harmonious One, and this was the balanced form he'd choose for now. Adrien tentatively offered this thought to that foreign essence still carving its way into his soul.

No answer was forthcoming, but that was to be expected. He was only talking to himself.

He crouched on all fours, shaking his limbs, testing their flexibility. Gods, this was form was strong and agile. It'd be a terror on the battlefield, and he was almost sorry he'd never get to test it that way.

Chat Noir grinned. Now _there_ was an argument in favor of his father's plans. He might finally get a chance to hone his skills in battle, not with dead-eyed fencing instructors. Infiltrate the enemy camp at night, tear them apart with tooth and claw…

He shook his head.

No. That was _not_ what he'd struck this bargain for.

Shadows swirled around him, solidifying into black leather around his legs. After a moment's thought, he covered his chest as well. Marinette had been skittish whenever she'd caught a glance of his bare skin, and now was the time to set her at ease. As much as he enjoyed teasing her, earning her trust was paramount, and that entailed respecting her preferences.

Born of dark magic he might be, but Chat Noir would prove himself a worthy friend to her.

He vaulted himself onto his balcony's railing, and within a few leaps he'd left the familiar palace grounds to retrace his steps to her. The moon shone bright tonight, not a cloud in the sky, and he laughed at the simple pleasure of it all. Swift wind in his shaggy hair, the feel of his claws digging into solid ground, the burn of silver light…

Chat Noir was _alive_ in a way Prince Adrien had never been.

Then he failed his final landing, claws desperately scrabbling on roof tiles to gain solid footing.

He _knew_ that redheaded girl standing on his new friend's balcony. His eyes widened in panic just as her head swiveled to face him.

Her lips parted.

 _Time to face what you've wrought._

The prince swallowed heavily, leaping closer so that he might keep his voice low. She backed away, hitting the railing behind her and knocking over one of Marinette's many flowerpots.

"Hello," he said softly.

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and the stench of fear hit his nostrils. His mouth watered, and he shook his head. Human thoughts. Adrien thoughts. This was the prince's mess to clean up.

Suddenly, the woman squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing. A finger jabbed his chest. "Stay. Away," she growled fiercely. "Marinette is kind and innocent and deserves nothing of the misery you would inflict on her."

Adrien squirmed, averting his gaze. He couldn't deny that he inflicted misery on the people around him, but – Chat Noir did not. "I mean her no harm."

Her eyes were shining in the darkness. "How dare you even – You can't fool me, cat! You threw me off a wall! Into thorns! And then, once I was good and scratched up, you led me to the most humiliating experience of my life! Do you know how the castle guards looked at me the next morning when I had to make my way back home?"

For one mad moment, he considered pretending that had been some other magical black cat, leading her astray. His ears pressed flat to his head. "If I'd known it was the horse master you sought to meet, I'd never have gotten your hopes up."

"Really," she drawled, and jabbed his chest again. "I'll not hear any more of your lies, black cat, so you leave Marinette–"

"It's true," he interrupted. "I know not what he said to you, but there is something I must tell you. The man you knew is dead."

She laughed bitterly. "Looked quite alive to me."

"It's a walking corpse, nothing more. During the war, he – he took a curse for the Prince."

The woman grew very still. "Explain."

Adrien fidgeted uncomfortably. "It was a noble sacrifice. Your horse master – _Nino_ was a good man. Remember him as he was, not what you saw that night."

Silence descended, her eyes distant as all the hostility seeped away from her. "…he was so different," she whispered, voice distant and thoughtful, more to herself than to him. Then her gaze sharpened, pinning him in place. "What kind of curse?"

"It's called the Bound Oblivion." There was a calculating gleam in her eyes, so he added softly, "But it cannot be broken. People more well-versed in black magic than you have tried. Please. Just honor his memory and do not hold what happened against him."

Hazel eyes narrowed with determination. "That curse hasn't yet met _me_."


	10. Chapter 10

_Once upon a time there was a gentleman who took a second wife. She was a widow who had two daughters of her own and they were exactly like her in all things. The man, too, brought a young girl to the marriage. She was of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took from her late mother._

 _But when the kind Lord died in an accident, the stepmother unleashed her true nature on the kind-hearted girl, dressing her in rags and forcing her into servitude. She was a jealous, bitter old woman who envied the girl her youthful beauty which outshone that of her own daughters._

 _The girl wept bitter tears, helpless and trapped in days filled with drudgery, her only reprieve at night. That was when she dreamed of a kind stranger who would come rescue her from her misfortune._

 _She came to love the night, impatiently awaiting the moon's every rise._

* * *

"You're back."

"I promised I would be, my Lady," Chat Noir purred.

Marinette tapped one finger to her chin. "And yet you didn't come last night. Were you not boasting that you would come _every_ night until I accept your gift?"

He leapt to her bed, crouching as a cat might, hands between his thighs. "Being Lord of Night is a heavy burden, you know. I have many responsibilities to attend to. Fear not, though, for I am generous and favor you, Marinette. I shall endeavor to visit you _most_ nights."

"Hm." She fought to keep the smirk off her face. "So you _definitely_ did not get scared off by Alya?"

"Never heard of that name." Chat Noir raised his hand and licked its back. Then he startled and quickly dropped it, pretending like he hadn't just done that.

"Red hair. Sun-kissed skin." Marinette arched an eyebrow. "Fierce and terrifying."

"Still not ringing a bell. Besides, Chat Noir does not get scared off by a mere chit."

"Hm. So you won't mind if I tell Alya you just called her a chit?"

"…please don't."

Marinette threw back her head and laughed.

He brightened, and she sat down beside him. Marinette knew she should be shooing him away now that she knew it could be done, had promised Alya that she would, but…

The cat had come wearing a shirt today. Being considerate of her comfort. Maybe she was a fool being lured to her doom, but somehow, she was certain this strange being meant her no harm.

Marinette trusted her intuition. _Follow your heart,_ her mother used to say, _and it will always steer you back to fortune._ Part of the mythical family blessing. Lucky coincidences piled up for them, opportunities falling into their lap when the hour of need was greatest.

But luck only got a woman so far. If she wanted to claw herself out of this hole, Marinette had to be daring and bold, make use of what fate was giving her.

And fate, evidently, was giving her the affection of a cat-turned-human.

 _I'll make do._

"May I see your back, kitty?"

The black leather flowed away like water, revealing the bare chest beneath.

She shoved his shoulder, laughing. "Really? You could have so easily made yourself presentable last time?"

Chat Noir smirked at her, one of his fangs digging into his bottom lip. "But my chest is purr-fection, Marinette. How can I keep such a treasure hidden from the world? I told you, I am a generous Lord."

"More like a vain kitten." She placed one hand on his shoulder, gently turning him, and sucked in a breath.

Gone. All of it. His back was smooth and bare, as if it had never been marred.

"I told you it would heal." His tail swished and curled around her waist just as his voice dropped into a gentle cadence. "But you made the pain fade faster. Thank you."

Marinette almost fell off the bed, jerking out of the tail's embrace. "Yes, well – great! You can – you can put the shirt back on, thanks!"

He grinned in amusement, but did as he was told, curling up on her bed.

"Tell me of yourself, Marinette."

"There's not much to tell."

"Tell me anyway. The sound of your voice alone makes it worth listening to."

"How about _you_ tell me about yourself first."

"Not much to tell. I was a cat. Now I'm not."

"Yes, and how'd that happen?"

"Magic."

"…would you like to elaborate?"

"Not particularly. You're so much more interesting than I am."

"Said the magical cat-creature to the ordinary girl."

A low rumble rose in his chest, his eyelids half-closed. "You are far from ordinary in my eyes, Marinette."

She scraped together the courage to ask the question that had been burning on her tongue. "Why me?"

"You are fearless, and you have kindness in your heart. Even for unlucky omens." His tail twitched, and his pupils narrowed. "My reception elsewhere has been… underwhelming. And by underwhelming, I mean a lot of screaming."

Of course, she shouldn't have assumed she was the only one he'd tried talking to. "Been trying to flirt with other girls?"

"No. Only you."

Marinette swallowed heavily and looked away.

"Chat, can I – can I ask how old you are?"

While he looked like an adult man, his demeanor swung widely between almost childlike wonder and harsh cynicism, like he'd somehow seen nothing of the human world and the worst of it. How long did cats live? Fifteen years, at most? So if he looked like a young man, wouldn't that make him maybe two or three years old as a cat?

"I'm twenty."

She blinked. "Cats don't live that long."

"Magical cat, Marinette."

"Yes, but…" She frowned. Shouldn't he still look like an old man if he was such an ancient cat?

"I was magical before–" He made a sweeping gesture to his body. "–all this. So how old are _you_ , Marinette?"

"I'm nineteen," she murmured.

A brief grin flashed across his face. "Then we are well-matched." His expression grew thoughtful. "So how come you live by yourself?"

Marinette heard the question underneath. _Why is a young maiden like you not safely cocooned by either her family or her husband?_ The cat understood more of human society than he let on.

For a moment, she considered giving him her well-worn lie, but…

"My family shuns me."

"Why would they do that?" The question was almost idle, but Chat Noir moved fluidly from his lounging pose to a predator's stance, as if readying himself to pounce.

She fidgeted. "My mother's side of the family lives somewhere on the other side of the world, and my father's was not too pleased with his decision to marry a foreigner. It was always just the three us and now – well, now it's only me."

One of his claws brushed the back of her hand. Gentle. Soothing. "How did they die?"

She sighed and curled up on the bed, loosely keeping her hand entwined with his. "My mother on the birthing bed." All her healing arts had not been able to save her. Not when her delirium prevented her from giving instructions. "My little – my little brother did not make it, either. And then my father, he just…" Marinette closed her eyes. "He _wilted_."

She turned to face Chat.

"Have you ever looked someone in the eyes and realized that there is nothing there anymore?"

"Yes," he whispered.

Marinette preferred to remember her father as the joyous and gentle giant he'd been in her youth. Not the pale shadow he'd become later. "Don't misunderstand, he was a good man, and he tried to take care of me. He found a new wife so that I might have a mother to teach me, but – well, me and my stepmother never got along. My father died on the anniversary of my mother's death for no reason that anyone could ever find." Even though the physician had scoffed at her for saying it out loud, Marinette still believed he'd died of a broken heart.

"And your stepmother?"

"As I said. I'm shunned." The woman had been enraged that her father had never loved her as much as his first wife. She had gleefully tried to turn Marinette into the household servant after his death as some sort of twisted retaliation. Her two stepsisters, poisoned by the spiteful woman's words, had joined in, making constant demands.

 _Marinette, do this. Marinette, do that. Marinette, mend my dress, clean this floor, bring my supper._

Until, one day, after being denied the opportunity to go to the village's summer solstice celebration, Marinette had calmly packed her bags and left.

She would make her own way in the world.

Already she had found a small circle of friends which was sure to grow in time. Her business was small, but she made enough to keep her head above water, and she had faith that her skill would bring in more customers as she found her footing in the new city.

Yes, Marinette would not miss life's opportunities, no matter what obstacles were thrown in her path. She would build a new life filled with joy and laughter.

 _Chat Noir. Are you opportunity or obstacle?_

Either way, Marinette would conquer him.

Claws hesitantly reached for her hair, petting it in much the same way she'd stroked his fur that first night. His eyes were filled with warmth and affection. "I promised you a gift."

"And I promised I wouldn't take it," she whispered. Alya had been very insistent on that point.

"You haven't even seen what it is, yet. It's purr-fect for you."

Marinette giggled. "Kitty, you've made that pun already. Feeble mind running out of wit?"

Chat huffed. "So cruel. I give and I give and all I get in return is mockery."

"But you love it." He did. His eyes shone with delight at every gentle tease of hers.

"Well, that's beside the point. Now, watch. I just learned this trick."

Marinette's eyes widened in alarm when dark vapor stirred in his palm, the shadows rising and twisting, growing solid like the leathers he wore. Then the black bubble burst, revealing–

A flower pot.

With a single blue rose unlike any she'd ever seen.

"I didn't see what kind of flowers I tipped over on that balcony," he said softly and gently placed the little pot in front of her. "But this one reminded me of your eyes."

"Where did you get this?" she whispered in awe.

"Royal gardens."

Her head snapped up and she immediately shoved the pot back into his arms. "Are you insane? I'll be arrested for stealing if anyone finds this!"

"It's not stolen. And if it was, I promise, nobody will care." He laughed softly. "If you ever land in the dungeons over a _flower_ , I'll come break you out and get you a pardon."

"This isn't funny, kitty! I can't steal from the royal family!" She hissed in a breath as a horrible thought struck her. "Oh, the Prince would hate me!"

Suddenly Chat Noir's eyes narrowed with distaste, scrutinizing her face. "Met him, have you?"

"Only once." Her voice was reverent and filled with awe, as it should be when speaking of someone as magnificent as He. "I saw him when he returned from the war."

"He's overrated," Chat said derisively, and she shook her hair, black hair bouncing on her shoulders.

"See, I thought that, too! I believed he could not possibly live up to all the tales. But I was wrong, kitty. He is a God among men."

Chat Noir made a voice of disgust, turning away. "Let's not talk about him." He leapt off her bed, prowling around her narrow room as if looking for anything he might comment upon to spark a topic change. Silly kitty, was he jealous to hear her talk of another man? Like Marinette had any chance at all of ever catching the Prince's attention.

Alarm rose when Chat's green gaze focused on a small black box. His claws reached for it.

"Kitty."

He froze, turning to look at her at her sudden change in tone.

"I know you like to play with my things, but if you break _that_ , no gift or apology will ever make me forgive you."

Chat Noir nodded and withdrew his hand, demurely setting it back down on the floor.

"What is it?"

 _My Lucky Charm._

"A family heirloom."

* * *

After much pleading and cajoling, he took the flower with him, vowing he'd find her an even better gift tomorrow.

He returned with a tiara.

The night after that he came bearing a watch made of pure gold.

And the night after that…

Marinette burst out laughing.

"Glass slippers? Really?"

"No." His eyes shone with determination. "Diamonds for my Lady."

"…you are so ridiculous. What am I supposed to do with these, Chat? They don't even fit."

* * *

 _She came to love the night, impatiently awaiting the moon's every rise._


	11. Chapter 11

_Adrien,_

 _I've been very patient with you, but our discussions are going in circles. Wars need to be won quickly and decisively. The enemy rallies while you delay. Why do you no longer trust your father's experience in these matters?_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _I do trust you, but you need to trust me, too. You've raised me to rule, and I cannot be a good King if I cannot make decisions for myself. For now, we have no enemies, only wary neighbors. Let's keep it that way._

* * *

 _You are not King yet, my son._

 _And as long as this crown rests upon my head, you are sworn to service as much as anyone else in my realm._

 _And I order you to do your duty, Adrien Agreste, or forfeit your birthright._

* * *

Disquieted, Adrien stared at his father's harshest rebuke yet, his guts squirming. He glanced at the nearby stack of papers, next to ink and quill, but his mind was blank. What could he possibly answer to that?

What paths were left open to him? Begging? His father had no respect for people who debased themselves.

Once, Adrien had watched as an envoy from a plague-stricken region had wept and cried, pleading to be allowed to retrieve his family from the afflicted lands. Father had said no, face unmoved. When the man had tried to break the quarantine, he'd been executed and his body made a warning for all who'd follow in his footsteps.

No, begging would get Adrien nowhere.

Nor would reasoning. Or bargaining. And defiance would be treason against the Crown. Not to mention the stain upon his already blighted soul, to dishonor his father so.

One path was always open to him, however.

"So what's the problem?" The spirit's paw rested on his shoulder as he read his father's missive with some interest. "Don't see why you're wasting your time writing letters when you're so persuasive in person. Is he resistant to your magic?"

Adrien swallowed heavily, fingers balling into fists. No. He would not.

"I won't enslave my own father."

The spirit gave him a long, searching look.

"Such a strange warlock you are. My last summoner sacrificed his father in a blood ritual for more power."

Adrien hissed, baring his teeth.

Kwami hissed back, but then his eyelids lowered. He looked almost pleased. "It was observation, not criticism."

* * *

"Alya?"

She startled from her reverie at the familiar voice and looked up from the ancient pages, squinting at the blurry shape intruding on her sanctuary.

Carefully sidestepping the little fort of books Alya had built around herself, Marinette knelt beside her and set down a basket. She pulled back the red cloth covering it, and a mouthwatering smell hit Alya's nostrils. Her stomach growled.

When was the last time she'd eaten?

"You're going to ruin your eyesight, you know," Marinette said softly. "It's not good to read such small print with only candlelight to aid you."

Rubbing her eyes, Alya grinned weakly. "I'm afraid it's rather too late for that warning." Thanks to many a sleepless night spent curled up with a good book in her bed, Alya walked through a world filled with blurry splotches. Spectacles were expensive, and could not keep up with her deteriorating eyesight for long. Father Wayzz had assured her that this development would likely slow as she entered adulthood. Alya had a strong suspicion that spectacles would be her next nameday gift.

Marinette held out a croissant, and Alya eagerly devoured it.

"Alya, where have you been? I haven't seen you in days." Her friend's gaze wandered over the literature Alya had been immersing herself in, an eyebrow rising in response. " _'A Treatise on Magicks Most Vile'? 'On Curses and Their Subversion of the Gods' Natural Order'_? ' _The Court of the Dark Fae'_?" She paused. "Is this about my new cat?"

"Only marginally." Alya sighed. "Don't tell me you've kept him."

A hint of a blush was discernible through the heavy gloom hanging over the room. "He's kind to me."

"Yes, that's how dark creatures work. They lure you in. _Please_ tell me you're not considering anything stupid."

"Well, that depends entirely on your definition of _something stupid_. Besides." Marinette tapped on the tome titled ' _Malevolent Enthrallment'_. "I don't think you're in any position to judge when it comes to getting too close to black magic. Where'd you even get these books?"

"Father has an… _interesting_ personal collection. And I _am_ judging, Marinette. You're playing with fire while _I'm_ merely trying to break a curse."

Marinette's eyebrows drew together. "A curse?"

Alya nodded. "Nino was hit by one meant for the Prince during the war. That's why – that's why he was so cold to me." She grinned, projecting far more confidence than she felt. "Which means now I have to break it. I'm not letting that man out of our bargain so easily."

"Can I help?"

Alya glanced up at her friend, and her voice grew quiet. "I haven't found much of use yet. There's a lot of books to sort through, so–"

"Say no more." Marinette smiled brightly. "Don't worry, my mother taught me my letters well. I'm a fast reader."

Alya nodded, and gestured to the enormous pile of books she'd not yet gotten around to. "Look for mentions of the Bound Oblivion." She paused. "And stop dallying with the black cat. I'd rather not have to break another curse right after this one."

"I'm not dallying." The blush was darkening, and Alya's eyes narrowed.

She'd only been teasing, but _this_ – this was true defensiveness.

"Marinette," she whispered. "Don't tell me you like him."

"Of course not."

"He's not human."

"I know that."

"He has _fur_ , Marinette!"

"I know! It's hard to miss!"

"So why are you blushing?"

"Because of – of your _insinuations_!"

Alya gazed at her friend for a long moment. "I'm all for having adventures, Marinette, you know that. And he has been kind to me, too. I think. But you cannot trust such a creature's motives. Fae – or whatever he is – they don't think like we do. They have their own sense of morality."

"I truly think he is not malevolent."

"He doesn't have to be to ruin your life."

* * *

Marinette nearly stumbled on the cobbled stone and drew herself up, rubbing her eyes to chase the sleep from them. The tomes Alya had her study were densely written, the print so fine it strained even her perfect eyesight. And the illustrations…

Dark magic truly was foul.

She slowed her steps and thought of her cat. A faint shiver ran down her spine when she pictured those green eyes staring at her. Marinette had noticed, of course, and thought it harmless. Was it truly, though?

For all that he proclaimed himself a mere cat, Chat Noir stared at her the way a man stared at a woman. And maybe… maybe Marinette stared back as a woman might.

Which was ludicrous. Preposterous. Utter insanity.

What kind of life could she build with _him_? Just the thought of him in temple garments, quietly reciting ancient wedding vows in front of a priest was – well, it just wasn't possible. His tail would swish beneath the robe. Would he burst into flames if he so much as walked on hallowed grounds? The fact that Marinette couldn't discount this as a possibility said it all.

Marinette was content with the simple things in life, even as they kept eluding her. She wished for a husband. Children. A happy family around a warm hearth.

What kind of children would Chat Noir give her?

Her eyes widened in horror as she contemplated the terrible logistics of birthing a _litter_.

No, perhaps… perhaps it truly would be for the best to send him away. Before he got more attached to her than he already was.

Before _she_ did the same.

If only he didn't look so damn cute when he was sleeping.

Marinette stared at the big cat-man curled up on her bed and sighed. Then she tried to be as quiet as possible as she closed the door behind her, but his ears perked up at once. Two slivers of glowing green cracked open, illuminating her dark room.

"Good evening, Chat Noir," she whispered, tip-toeing closer.

He did not answer, his long tail coiling. Only then did she notice it. His great black fluff had been receding with every passing night until the hair on his tail had been cropped short, the fur on his arms no longer reaching past his elbow. Marinette had assumed it was the progression of whatever magic he'd done to himself, turning him ever more human.

But that must have been wishful thinking.

He was shirtless once more, his fur denser than ever, the black line on his back culminating in a lion's mane wrapping around his neck like a scarf.

"You're out late, Marinette." Chat's voice was hoarse and scratchy. He spoke slowly, the syllables not flowing as they usually did.

"I was helping a friend." As soon as she sat down beside him, he heaved himself up to crawl into her lap.

Marinette froze.

After a few moments, he huffed, rather demandingly bumping his forehead against her belly. "Pet me."

"No," she squeaked. She couldn't just – he was half-naked! She couldn't pet a half-naked man!

"Why not? You did before."

"You were a _cat_!"

His tail curled up, the tip flicking her nose. "Still am."

"It's different and you know it."

He huffed again, though it sounded more like an offended _mrowr_. " _Please_."

Marinette blinked. Had he ever used that word with her before? He demanded, he teased, he offered, but never had Chat Noir ever pleaded.

"Chat. Are you alright?"

* * *

"No."

Adrien was not alright.

He had an unanswered letter waiting for him in his room, demanding that he pledge himself to wars he neither supported nor condoned.

And he would do it.

The prince would bend before his father's will. He always did.

That's why he didn't want to be that pathetic, spineless man tonight. He preferred the cat, for the cat had a friend he could go to for comfort. Marinette and the time he spent with her were a balm on his soul, secret pleasures stolen and savored. A little game he liked to play at night to distract himself from the duties and worries of the day.

Gentle fingers wound themselves into his hair, behind his ears, and he sighed with bliss. "Thank you," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he lost himself to instinct, a soothing purr rumbling in his chest while her skilled hands stroked his fur, carefully avoiding any areas of exposed skin.

"What happened, kitty?"

"Bad day."

Opening his mouth made him lose his rhythm, the deep rumble sputtering to a halt before starting again, louder.

"I never see you during the day," Marinette murmured. "Where do you go, Lord of Night?"

He didn't answer, but she kept petting him anyway.

"You could – if you need some place to stay safe, you don't have to leave." Her voice was so low he was certain he would not have heard her without his superior hearing.

"I'm safe," he said. "I turn back."

"You become a cat again?"

Chat answered with a grunt she mistook for affirmation, as he'd intended.

What he wouldn't give to speak with her in truth, but he couldn't, and not just because words were difficult to form at the moment. Even without his blessing, the prince could never have her. She was common, with no name or family connection worth speaking of, and he was destined for some marriage of alliance his father would no doubt arrange.

Stolen moments with a friend, that was all this ever could be.

Her hand brushed his bare side and he shuddered, a low moan escaping him. Her touch was so calming, like sinking into a warm and soft blanket. No, better. Everything he'd ever imagined one might find in the arms of a woman.

Suddenly, her scent _changed_.

Chat Noir grew rigid in more ways than one.

He still had not mastered all the subtle nuances of scent. Scents were constant, a distinct signature belonging to every person, but they were also everchanging, reflecting their mood. Like looking at pages written in a script he'd never learned to read, Chat could observe that these changes were _there_ and only guess at their meaning.

But there was no mistaking what _this_ was. Because it made his mouth water and his belly ache with need, eager for a taste. In a heartbeat, he had her on her back, pinning her wrists above her head. Shoving his face in the crook of her neck, he inhaled. _More, more, more._

Marinette squirmed so sweetly, her voice quivering with mirrored need. "That's why it's different now, kitty."

"Yes." He'd be gentle. Chat didn't know a thing about how to go about this, but he'd make it work. Figure out how to make her enjoy it. One taste of the real thing before wedding vows would shackle him to be faithful to a woman who'd drool on him in her enthrallment.

"I can't," she whispered. "Kitty, I want to be married someday."

He grew still.

The prince had made inquiries. Subtle, in passing, wanting to know about the available seamstresses in the city so he might place an order before instead deciding to bring her gifts directly.

"You're a widow. I heard."

It wasn't that he'd planned to capitalize on it, but he had tucked the knowledge away. Widows were permitted to move about the world much more freely than maidens were, to experience what was shielded from innocent eyes.

"I'm not. And I – I do not wish to start any marriage of mine with deception."

Chaste. Just like him.

But the world was unfair, much more forgiving of men who did not keep their virtue intact. Women paid a steep price if they failed to be virgins on their wedding night.

Chat Noir made a miserable, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat. But he nodded and sat back. Marinette was a wonderful woman, far more virtuous than he. Even before she took her vows, she respected them.

Her future husband was a lucky man.

"I understand."

Bluebell eyes peered at him in concern. "You're not mad?"

"Mad? No." He sighed and rolled to lie beside her, concentrating on forming proper sentences. "I meant it when I said I am here for your friendship. You've been far greater than I'd dared hope for. Forgive me. I got carried away with greed."

Her fingertips brushed his jaw, trailing to the fluff on his neck.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're noble, kitty?" she murmured, and he grinned.

"I _am_ a Lord."

They lay together for a long time, her fingers gently stroking his silky black coat.

"Where's my gift?"

He blinked and swore under his breath, shooting her a guilty look. "I forgot."

Marinette merely nodded. "If you offer me another one…" She paused and closed her eyes. "I won't turn it down again. I trust you."

* * *

Chat Noir raced the dawn, leaping to the prince's balcony just as the first few rays crept over the horizon. He shouldn't have allowed himself to drift off, should have left long before he did, but he hadn't wanted to leave that warm, cozy room filled with her scent. Long after she'd fallen asleep, he'd stayed to watch her chest rise and fall with even breaths.

And somewhere deep inside the prince's heart, an idea was taking root.

Who said he couldn't have her?

If he was to be a conqueror and take the neighboring kingdoms by sheer force of will, well, then he could marry whomever he pleased. Even a commoner. Who would dare tell him no?

Adrien shuddered as his pelt fell away, but still crawled into bed on all fours, not quite willing to let Chat Noir go yet. He pulled the blanket over his head, drifting off at once for the few hours of sleep he could afford before duty called.

* * *

Duty knocked on his door scarcely an hour later. Adrien blinked blearily as the servant entered the room and shut the door behind him.

"You have not answered the King's last letter, Your Grace. He is displeased."

Adrien buried his face in the pillow, pretending the flat voice belonged to someone else.

"Yes, tell him I'll answer shortly."

"The King is very displeased."

Adrien sighed. Then he forced his lips into a smile and tamed the irritation in his voice with politeness. If there was ever an Akuma who deserved courtesy, it was this one. Even if Nino no longer cared for such things.

The prince sat up to face him.

His smile died when he saw the whip in his friend's hand.


	12. Chapter 12

_Once upon a time, there was a young prince who was seventh in line for the throne._

 _When pestilence invaded the land, rotting the crops on the field before the seed had a chance to take root, the young man's father and elder brothers fell ill. An ambitious heart would have sensed an opportunity to take the throne, but the young man was filled only with compassion._

 _In his desperation, the prince cried to the sky._

"Misfortune, herald of disease,

I beg mercy and reprieve,

Spare this humble home of ours,

And my soul I'll give you to devour."

 _Low creatures stirred at this tempting bargain, but it was the most powerful among them who answered. A soul this pure was no use to him,_ _for it would surely draw the Gods' mercy. But it would be a pleasure to corrupt it with temptation._

"What sweet sacrifice you offer,

It makes me long to fill your coffers,

Health and wealth you'll have to spare,

But only if you give your heir."

 _The prince looked at his suffering people, his mother and father, his elder brothers and innocent sisters, and he made the fateful decision to agree. For what was one life when compared to the good of many?_

 _Pestilence left, and the prince rejoiced._

 _But in the years that followed, his beloved brothers were felled one by one. One tumbled from his horse and broke his neck while another was mauled by a wild boar in a hunt. The last of them was lost at sea, and the young prince moved up the line of succession to become king._

 _His rule was prosperous and peaceful, his queen blessing him with a son for his firstborn. Remembering the bargain, the king guarded his heir fiercely, keeping him close to his chest, never allowing him to leave his sight._

 _As the years passed, the boy grew strong and healthy, of clever mind and sweeter temper. And the king clung tight, pouring all he had into raising the boy to be a good man._

 _Until one day, Misfortune came to claim his due._

 _Before the king's eyes, the prince grew claw and fang and fur. Forgetting every lesson he'd ever learned, the kind young man became a vicious, mindless beast._

 _The king wept for what he'd lost, bitterly regretting the day he'd dared to bargain with fae._

* * *

One lash.

Adrien grunted.

Second lash.

His fingers dug into the carpet and his eyes glazed over.

Third lash.

He braced himself for the next one.

It never came.

"The King expects a letter within the hour."

Adrien slowly turned his head as Nino coiled the leather string, eyes as blank as his voice. That was it? Ten lashes was the minimum, scaling up depending on the severity of Adrien's misbehavior.

A warning, then. Did father think himself merciful for this?

The prince quietly drew his tunic over his shoulder and rose to compose the letter he'd been putting off.

 _Father,_

 _Message received._

 _You'll have my answer before the dawn._

A few drops of ink spilled on the parchment, smearing his immaculate handwriting, but he did not care to repeat himself. When the ink dried, he folded the paper and gave it to Nino along with a strained smile.

None of this was the Akuma's fault, after all.

So it wouldn't do to be rude to him.

* * *

Adrien smiled at his hand as his claws lengthened, delighting in the feel of his teeth growing too big and sharp for his mouth. His control over his transformation was growing, or perhaps the cat's will was waning with the moon. Either way, it was easy to direct his fur to grow exactly as much as he wanted and no further.

Tonight, Chat Noir would eschew visiting his friend. He was drawing on the savage parts of himself, and she didn't need to see that. Besides, he hadn't yet found the right gift for her. Now that he knew she would accept his next offering, he had to choose carefully instead of wildly guessing what she might like.

His claws dug into his balcony's marble railing, his body tensing to jump and explore more of his city. But no. He would cover different grounds today.

Hopping from balcony to window sill to the top of richly decorated pillars, he scaled the palace until he landed on the entrance to a room forbidden to his other half. His claws sliced through glass like butter, and Chat Noir slunk in through the window as quietly as his namesake.

Adrien hadn't been in the King's chamber since he'd been a boy.

His father had redecorated.

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow as he took in the wall lined with pictures of the prince, documenting his growth from a young boy into a man. Of course, the artists had been as enthralled by the blessing as anyone else, so the pictures, immaculate though they were, all showed a different man.

His hair was always gold, true, but the eyes were all the colors of the rainbow. Even the paintings of what were clearly supposed to be a twelve-year-old child depicted rugged handsomeness, with sharp jawlines no boy on earth had ever had before the change of adulthood came over him.

Adrien had been a late bloomer, only growing into his full height and frame when he'd been close to his majority. But looking at this painted progression, one would assume he'd tumbled out of his mother's womb fully formed.

 _Father, you liar._

 _You don't remember my face at all._

Why else would the King hang paintings of a stranger on his wall?

But father being a liar was nothing new. In fact, he'd often extolled the virtues of strategic deception, emphasizing it as a necessary part of politics Adrien would have to master. And yet, somehow, the prince had been foolish enough to think himself an exception. That he would never be a target of the king's plots.

 _These are not my plans, Adrien, they are ours._

Ours. Always ours. Because the prince and the king were meant to be an unbreakable alliance forged by blood, with no secrets or deception between them.

Adrien had sobbed when he'd seen what his father had done to his best friend. Through years and years of research on how to break his blessing, the prince had nurtured the hope of one day meeting the real Nino again and rekindling their boyhood friendship.

But it was too late now. He'd taken too long, been too cautious, forever putting off cursing himself in search of a better solution.

In response to his rage and grief, father had sent him a long letter of apology, acknowledging that he had misread the situation and that he should not have interfered with the prince's favored servant. And Adrien had accepted it, had believed that the king had only meant well.

 _Everything I do, I do for your own good, Adrien._

His back still stung with the morning's lesson, but it was a good pain. A necessary one.

 _You need discipline, my son. And pain is life's best teacher._

For finally, after many years of denial, the lesson had sunk in.

His father was a liar.

There was no grand plan, no wisdom that Adrien was too young and foolish to see. Nothing but cruelty explained the decision to use Nino to deliver the punishment. This man had nothing more to teach him.

Chat Noir dropped to all fours, prowling through the king's chambers, his tail lashing in anger. He passed a mirror and grinned at his reflection, pressing his tongue against his fang to test its edge. Silently, he stalked the halls hung with countless pictures of the prince.

Until his attention was drawn to one that wasn't him.

This man had brown hair and a broad grin on his face, towering over a sullen blond boy next to him. Chat Noir tilted his head, his gaze tracing familiar features.

Ah.

So this was his uncle.

In some ways, Prince Adrien had been quite fortunate that his mother had died on the birthing bed. If she had borne more sons, he had no doubt that his brothers would also have gotten his father's ambitions instilled in them.

And then the heir would have had to sleep with a knife under his pillow.

"He was weak," a voice behind him drawled, and Chat Noir turned to face his father for the first time in nine years. "Eric should never have been firstborn. He did not have the temperament for politics. Truly, he'd have been happiest living out his days as a peasant."

Adrien remembered a towering figure, broad-shouldered and massive. But the man before him was thin and gaunt. His hand shook as he raised his wineglass to his lips, taking a deep sip.

Ah, but the eyes.

The icy cold eyes pinning the prince in place with sheer force of will had not changed at all.

Brittle lips pulled back into a spiteful smile.

"A black cat. How fitting. Have you come to delight in my misfortune, fae?"

* * *

 _"Good morning, father."_

 _His son bowed to him with the respect he was due, and Gabriel nodded in return, allowing him to join him at the breakfast table. Instantly seeking to indulge his sweet tooth, the boy loaded his plate with sweet fruits. At Gabriel's arched eyebrow, he belatedly added two hardboiled eggs. His son was scrawny for his age, and the king had rearranged the supper menu to add more meat._

 _"Adrien, do you have your speech memorized?"_

 _"Yes, father." The thin shoulders drooped, and he listlessly poked the slice of apple. "But father, must I?"_

 _"The people are eager to honor their prince, Adrien. It's a celebration of your birth, of course you have to be there."_

 _"But it's_ my _nameday. Shouldn't_ I _get to decide how to spend it?" At Gabriel's narrowed eyes, Adrien averted his gaze, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I don't like how crowds stare at me, father. It's getting worse…"_

 _Gabriel's son was spoiled and fragile. Given everything, and still finding ways to complain about it. Hardening the boy was a slow endeavor. How had his union with a wicked witch ever produced_ this _?_

 _"They adore you, Adrien. As they should. The least you can do is give them a speech and a wave."_

 _"But–"_

 _"I'll hear no more of this. One day you'll realize what a boon it is to have a people who worship their ruler. It is a birthright often denied."_

 _Adrien turned to his plate. And sniffled._

 _Tears. Truly? Because he didn't like being stared at? The weakness should disgust him, and yet…_

 _Gabriel gazed at his son and sighed. Was he being too harsh? Adrien was a gentle boy eager to please. For all his softness, his studies of the art of war were progressing apace. Yes, perhaps he should get to spend his nameday as he wished. It was a special occasion, after all, marking the happiest day of Gabriel's life._

 _The king froze._

 _On the day Adrien had been born, Gabriel had torn out chunks of his hair, howling with madness and grief. It had taken months for the witch's love potion to wear off and for his sanity to return. Months he'd spent in agony, soothed only by…_

 _The king retched._

 _He – he knew this. This_ poison _. Foreign thoughts that were_ not his _invading his mind, whispering sweet seduction. But it couldn't – this couldn't be! He was immune! Only_ he _could resist his son's powerful gift!_

 _And what a gift it was. One day he'd conquer the world with it._

 _That was why he should remember to reward Adrien every now and then. His son was going to be his legacy, the greatest King who ever lived. He deserved to be indulged on occasion. Especially on the day celebrating his birth._

 _What a happy day that had been._

 _Gabriel shoved back his seat, nearly tipping over the table. Adrien startled and stared at him with wide purple eyes._

 _No._

 _Adrien's eyes were supposed to be blue, like his._

 _Dazed, Gabriel turned on his heels. He had to – his court mages. Yes. He had to consult his mages._

 _"Father? Where are you going?"_

 _The king shuddered, ignoring the urge to stop and listen to the innocent voice. Out of the mouth of babes…_

 _"Stay here, Adrien."_

 _What was he doing? It was not his place to give Adrien orders. No, it would make much more sense if it was the other way arou – no!_

 _"A-as you wish, father."_

 _Sweet, merciful boy._

 _The king broke into a sprint._

* * *

Gabriel stared at the monster in his room and took another sip of his wine.

Well.

He had always known his reckoning would come someday. Fae were not to be trifled with, and he'd dragged Lady Luck herself into his throne room, demanding a blessing. Rebound magic was inevitable. But he'd still been in the grip of the love potion, all his adoration for _her_ transferred to her babe.

Gabriel committed himself to a cause with his whole heart, shying away from nothing in the ruthless pursuit of his ambitions. He had committed himself to giving their child only the best in life.

The king had only realized his mistake once his addled mind had begun piecing together the puzzle of what had happened to him. Then he'd realized the cruel joke the fae had played on him, by choosing to give his son the gift of _charm_.

"I must commend you," he drawled to the creature. "You chose your punishment well. The eleven years were a stroke of genius."

Eleven years to get invested, to dare build dreams of the future. He had gotten to know his son, both his strengths and weaknesses, and where he most needed honing. Adrien was powerful, yes, but like the finest metal, he needed a skillful smith to shape him into a fearsome weapon.

But the prince had been ripped away from the king when he'd entered the most critical age, barely on the cusp of manhood. Gabriel had been forced to watch from afar as his precious metal was wasted on a dull blade. Akumatized teachers were no substitute for Gabriel's guiding hand.

Baring sharp fangs, the black beast stalked closer. Gabriel eyed it with distaste and took another sip. Then he blinked, surprised to find his goblet empty already.

"King Gabriel. I come bearing a message for you."

The claws held out a piece of parchment, sealed a familiar wax crest.

"I see my son has acquired an _interesting_ errand boy." The king seized the letter from the beast's grasp. The tremor in his hands grew worse as he unfolded it, and he had to extend some effort to decipher the words, his wits dulled by liquor.

 _My dearest father,_

 _If it is war you want, war you shall have. Civil war. Try and take my birthright from me. Let's see who the people will fight for._

 _Just remember that this charming prince has a silver tongue._

 _Prince Adrien Agreste, Sword of the Realm, Lady Luck's Blessed and Misfortune's Cursed_

Gabriel barked out a laugh.

Maybe his soft son had a backbone after all. Too bad he was choosing to reveal it now of all times. Gabriel walked to his nightstand and refilled his goblet, tipping back his head to gulp it all down in one practiced motion.

"Duly noted. You may leave now, beast."

But it didn't. It was still staring at him with glowing green eyes.

"Why?" Its voice was a growl, low and gravelly.

"Because you're in my room and you have no permission to be here."

"No. Why? Why did you do it? What was it that made torturing your son worth it?"

He lifted the wine bottle and watched the dark liquid fill his goblet once more. "Do you know what remains of us? When we're gone?"

The beast's only response was an irritated swish of its tail. How impudent.

"Only tales. Pain is fleeting. What's written in the history books is all that matters in the end." He smiled into his goblet. "Having my legacy be the unification of the five kingdoms would have been worth it."

"Is that all he is to you?"

"You say that as if I do him dishonor to think of him this way. My son is my legacy, and there is nothing more important than legacy. I love him like I have never loved anything in my life." Gabriel swayed on his feet and smiled vacantly. "I had hoped for so much more for him. But I suppose that's just one more thing you've taken from me. I'm going to die in here, you know. Locked in this wretched tower. Because of your Lady Luck's damn blessing."

The beast stared at him.

Then it silently turned, bounding to the window on all fours.

King Gabriel sighed and stared at the letter.

Ah well.

Adrien would still be the most beloved King to ever have lived. That, too, was a worthy legacy. Not the one Gabriel had hoped for, but… it would have to be enough.

All of this would have to be enough.

His gaze wandered to his elder brother's portrait. Adrien was soft like Eric had been, and for the longest time Gabriel had feared they'd share a fate. But no, his son had learned at least some of his lessons, and would fight fiercely to defend himself. Even from family.

Not like Eric.

The king raised his goblet in a silent toast to the man whose crown Gabriel had plucked from his corpse.

* * *

 _The king wept for what he'd lost, bitterly regretting the day he'd dared to bargain with fae._


	13. Chapter 13

_Once upon a dream a fair maiden was struck down by a terrible curse._

 _Doomed to eternal oblivion, the curse spread even to the very castle she slumbered in. Towering bulwarks of briar rose around the walls, keeping away anyone who would seek to rescue her._

 _Countless brave men were felled by the wicked thorns._

 _Until one day there came a knight, more daring and clever than the others, who evaded the vines through his knowledge of a secret passageway into the castle. When he caught sight of the sleeping maiden's beauty, he felt his heart stir. Unable to resist, he bent over her to press a kiss to her lips._

 _The maiden awoke with a startled gasp, staring in lovestruck awe at the knight who had rescued her._

 _For true love's kiss breaks any curse._

* * *

All his life Adrien had been told of the glory of victory. Supposedly there was no greater joy in life than besting an opponent. Yet General Bourgeois's defeat had left him untouched, and the prince had thought it must have been because it had been too easy.

But somehow this hard-earned triumph felt even worse, like a yawning pit inside of him.

 _I received your message last night, Adrien._

 _You know as well as I that your influence is limited by proximity. The capital might fall into your hands, but my letters travel faster than your voice. The corners of the kingdom are loyal to me, and once tale of your abilities spreads, your enemies will take care never to meet you face-to-face._

 _Your blessing will not save you from the starvation of a siege._

 _But that would be a pitiful end unworthy of my legacy._

 _You are my life's work. Yes, I have asked sacrifices of you and inflicted harsh lessons. But do you think I enjoy being locked in this tower? I do what must be done. You needed my guidance, not another sycophant. It pains me to see you turn away from all I've taught you._

 _You are a pale shadow of what you could be, but you are still my son. Know that I could destroy both of us, but I choose not to. Should you ever see reason, you know where to find me._

 _May your reign be long and glorious._

 _Signed,_

 _Your father_

* * *

The cat's will barely touched him that night, and Adrien shook it off with ease. No fur burst forth like weeds, nor did he so much as feel an itch to lower himself to the ground. Two legs were just fine.

Although he enjoyed leaping from roof to roof. When he deliberately called upon the cat, he found it unwilling to bestow its grace. But Adrien's will was strong tonight, and he forced it to alter his limbs into the form that pleased him most. He liked his flexibility.

And just like that, it was over. His tongue tapped the tip of his fangs and found them dull. No tail aided his balance. When Chat Noir gazed at the mirror, the prince stared back.

No, not quite.

His eyes were solid green, the pupils narrow.

But he looked fully human.

Chat grinned at his reflection and this fortunate development. Yes, what better way to woo her than with his true face, laid bare without fur or charm getting in the way. For a moment, he contemplated wearing his fine clothes, but they all bore his House's sigil.

So he let his magic flow over his body, dyeing the elegant finery black and conjuring a hood he could draw over his face to conceal his eyes.

When he landed on the castle's wall in a crouch, a familiar flash of red hair and dark skin drew his attention. Tilting his head, his gaze briefly locked onto her as she hurried past in the street below. Then he shook his head and pressed on.

Adrien had told her to let Nino go, that the man was beyond saving. What she did with his warning was up to her. The prince had grown quite good at never looking back at the destruction he left in his wake.

* * *

Alya glanced over her shoulder at the darkened sky, barely illuminated by the pale sliver. A new moon was when dark magic was weakest, making it the ideal time to break a curse.

Adjusting the bag holding her supplies, she retraced the steps of her memory. When she pressed her hand to the cool stone of the cliffside, the passage opened with a rumble. She swallowed heavily and steeled herself with resolve.

Alya had an excellent memory, she always had. It was child's play to mimic what the black cat had done and to not deviate from the path he'd shown her. But when she made it to the courtyard, her determined steps faltered.

Only one of the many books she'd devoured had held a reference to the Bound Oblivion. It was a curse to make slaves without a will of their own, and they were said to be so eerie to talk to that even the bravest of men shivered when looking into their soulless eyes.

The curse was also said to be excruciatingly painful for the victim when cast, burning away all humanity over hours and _days_.

Nino needed her. She would have to face him in his new state and no matter what he said or did, she would remind herself that it was the curse's doing. It was not him. The affection they shared between them had been real.

It had to be.

Batting the doubt away, she strode to the stables.

"Good evening, Nino."

Empty eyes swung around to look at her.

"Good evening, Alya."

She smiled broadly. He appeared to wait for her to say something else. When she didn't, only rummaging through her bag, the cursed man forgot her existence and returned to staring straight ahead.

Alya uncorked the small vial she'd asked her father to bless.

Nino didn't react at all when she splashed the holy water on him, only closing one eye when the liquid ran down his brow.

Well.

This was disappointing but ultimately, she hadn't expected to guess right on her first try.

He did not put up any resistance when she wrapped a hand around his wrist and dragged him to a private spot out of the sight of guards. Alya had all night and a bag filled with various trinkets and substances rumored to counter black magic.

* * *

Marinette's gaze kept sliding to the balcony.

She couldn't help it. Truly, she was _trying_ to focus on her needlework, but her kitty had not returned to her after that intimate night they'd shared and she could not help but wonder why. Was he mad at the rejection after all?

Would he ever come back again?

Her needle pierced the sturdy fabric too hard and Marinette cursed under her breath when she realized that she'd made a mess of the stitch pattern. She bent over her latest dress and started painstakingly pulling out the thread to undo her mistakes.

A knock gave her pause.

Marinette eyed the door to her room warily. Who would knock there at this hour?

The knock sounded again, accompanied by a faint voice from the other side.

"My Lady, open up."

Her eyes widened, and she scrambled off the bed. Relief that he was back at all had her pushing away the question of why he was not coming through the balcony as usual.

Marinette yanked open the door. A handsome man greeted her with a warm smile.

Man. Human man. Not a tuft of black fur in sight.

"Ch – Chat Noir?"

He swept into a bow, as formal and elegant as his black clothes. His hand entwined with hers, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"Care for a stroll through my night?"

When he raised his head, she saw that his eyes were still that of a cat, sparkling with good humor and affection. But his face, dear Gods, his face. The Gods themselves could not have carved anything more perfect than this.

Marinette raised her chin and tried to ignore the heavy drum of her heart.

"Where have you been, kitty?"

"Been busy selecting the perfect gift for you, my sweet Princess."

"Oh, have I been promoted from Lady now?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he softly smiled. "Yes. Now come walk with me through my domain. The Lord of Night wants to share it with you."

* * *

Alya dropped the wolfsbane and ground it into the dirt with the heel of her boot.

That was it.

The had been the last trick up her sleeve.

Nino stared blankly ahead.

She exhaled. Alright. This was disappointing, to be sure, but it had been her first try, with scarcely enough time to prepare. Now she had an entire month to study this curse in particular instead of relying on common remedies.

"You are upset."

He said it like he was sharing an observation on the weather. _Bit cold out today. Good thing you're about to burst into flames of righteous fury to keep us nice and warm._

"What troubles you?"

She'd thought nothing could be more uncanny than when he stared at nothing, but Nino had evidently managed to retain his manners. Or perhaps they had been deliberately added. Maybe whoever had cursed him had wanted his slave to be polite. He occasionally offered phrases of common courtesy, like a bad actor reciting lines from a script.

" _You_ do."

"My apologies. I will try to be better. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You owe me my kiss," she muttered bitterly.

He blinked, and then leaned forward. She shoved him back.

"Not like that!"

"Would you like me to tell you of my homeland first? If you still wish for me to keep my end of the bargain, I shall."

She rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. "It's fine. I read a book on your land."

"Which one?"

Alya stilled. Was that _interest_ in his voice? Could – could she perhaps remind him of his humanity by stirring fond memories? Excitement stirred, her tone perking up.

" _One Thousand And One Nights_ , it's so lovely, it's about a clever woman named Scheherazade who–"

"That book is inaccurate." His voice went flat.

"Well, it's fairytales."

"They're inaccurate."

"Exaggerated, perhaps, but don't they hold a seed of truth?"

Alya had been so fascinated by the illustrations, the architecture so unlike what she was familiar with. And the garments! If sheer silk had not been so expensive, she would have had Marinette sew her a dress just like Scheherazade's.

"The inaccuracies obscure it."

His quota for polite conversation evidently fulfilled, Nino lost interest, turning away once again. But Alya's mind was still working, seizing on the most foolishly romantic idea of all.

She was well-versed in fairytales, had devoured them since childhood. And one theme appeared again and again. Did that not hint at it being a seed of truth?

Her long fingers reached for his jaw, brushing along his dark stubble to turn his face to hers.

"I claim my prize now," Alya whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

Like kissing a stone.

Utterly unmoving and skin as cold as the night's air.

Right. Of course. Just a childish whim. She ruthlessly stomped on her disappointment. Alya would not allow herself to grow discouraged.

Against his lips, she whispered, "Until the next new moon, Nino. I'll save you. You'll see."

She drew back and he stared at her, unblinking.

Gathering her belongings to stuff into her bag, Alya pushed herself to her feet. A hand closed around her wrist and tightened in a vice's grip.

"Don't go." Nino swayed, a glimmer of awareness in his eyes. "Do that… again?"

So Alya did.

When she kissed him, his skin had warmed. And so she kept kissing him, again and again, until he gasped against her mouth and his lips began moving with her rhythm.

* * *

The stars shone bright, and Marinette laid her head on the shoulder of the man walking beside her. A faint rumble made her ear quiver and she laughed giddily, glad that not all the cat was gone.

"Where did your ears go, kitty?"

"I left them at home. Just for tonight."

She peered up at him through her eyelashes. He was handsome as sin now. And yet...

"…I miss them. They're cute."

"Do you?" He slowed his steps and turned to face her, his eyes burning with some intense emotion. "If we had not your reputation to consider, would you have me, Marinette? Ears and fangs and all?"

She squirmed and looked down. "I – I like you, kitty, but…"

"I can't promise you my days, Marinette." His fingertips – the nails just a hint too sharp – brushed her jaw, and she shivered at the touch. "Not yet. But if we share our nights, I promise you will want for nothing. I will provide for you. Name what you want, and you shall have it."

"Can I introduce you to my friends?" His jaw tightened. "Marry you with all the Gods as our witness?" She swallowed heavily. "Can you give me a family and a warm hearth?"

" _We_ will be family," he said heatedly. "And the rest… the rest I'll work on. I'll be a good husband, Marinette, one who won't stifle you. When I say I'll provide, I don't mean to lock you in a gilded cage. I'll provide opportunity for you to do exactly as you please. Say yes, and all the riches of my realm will be yours. You won't live in squalor anymore, no worries shackling your creativity. Your designs will take form with the rich silks they deserve."

"I won't lie, Chat Noir. I am tempted. But there is no lasting happiness in material wealth."

His shoulders slumped. "I know that. That's why I offer my love also."

Marinette hissed in a sharp breath.

He loved her. A cat turned human was in love with her. `

And maybe she even returned his affections.

What was she to do with this?

"Will you…" Her gaze wandered to his ears, his jaw, the face no longer hidden by a black mask made of fur. "Will you turn even more human as time passes, Chat?"

"Ah." His lips thinned. "No. I think this is as human as I'm likely to get." He turned his head to look at the sky. "By next full moon, I think I'll be quite small and fluffy again."

Marinette swayed on the spot as the implication sank in.

The cat had made a bargain for a human form to woo her. She'd gathered that much. And bargains made with dark magic had a price, often a cruel one, and all sorts of restrictions.

Like maybe giving her cat only a single moon cycle before he returned to what he'd been.

Her heart ached at the thought, for it meant – if Chat Noir left once his month was up, and only returned to her balcony as a cat thereafter, then…

Then Marinette had already wasted half the time she would ever get with this wonderful man. And that thought was utterly unbearable. To never have him come through her balcony again would be a loss as painful as–

At once, the depth of her feelings became clear to her, like staring down a maelstrom. A strong current pulling at her that she was fighting in vain.

And for all that Marinette pretended to be a widow, she did not like lies. Even to herself. And once she committed herself to a forward path, she did not fear nor hesitate. There would be no other man for her but this one.

Without thinking, her fingers reached for his nape, drawing him close.

"I'll provide for you, too, kitty," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his. He groaned, the sound like music to her ears, and kissed her back, unpracticed and unskilled. But he was eager, so eager, passion leading him to devour her mouth.

Marinette reveled in his ferocity as warmth pooled in her belly.

Yes, she would choose Chat Noir, and be faithful to him as long as the cat lived. If his lifespan was short, then she would be a widow in truth. If not, then she would build a life filled with friends and companionship. In lieu of having children of her own, she'd take in orphans and spare others from her own fate.

Yes, what a marvelous thought. Why had she not considered this before? Truly, her good luck never failed to reveal an unexpected path forward, turning loss into opportunity. Marinette smiled against his lips, grateful for her blessing, that it had led him to _her_ balcony and no one else's.

He broke the kiss to gasp for air and she grinned up at him.

Red eyes stared at her in wonder.

What?

Marinette took a step back, frowning in confusion. That was – that was Chat's face, yes, almost identical to the one he'd had before. But his coloring had changed. Even his clothes were no longer pitch-black, instead a mix of regal golds and white.

And…

His face was _more_. Somehow. She didn't quite know how, but his face was _radiant_ , golden hair shining in the night, his red eyes blazing like fire. Her Lord of Night burned as bright as the sun.

That was when Marinette spotted the sigil on his shoulder. The white butterfly.

Her lips parted just as the Prince smiled at her. Oh. Oh!

"Marinette," he said huskily, desire lacing his smooth voice. Like she was worthy of his attention. Her eyes grew wide – and he froze. "…Marinette. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Y-your Grace."

Alarm crossed His gorgeous features. "No. No! Marinette, do _not_ look at me like that! Fight it!"

Fight what?

She wanted to obey, do as He said, but she didn't know what enemy she had to defeat. Still she averted her gaze at once, wiggling out of His grasp to drop into a deep curtsy. Marinette's impudent gawking was bothering Him, so she had to stop.

"No… Marinette, no."

She cringed at His mournful whisper and lowered herself even further. Marinette did not mean to displease Him so! If only He would tell her what it was He wanted.

"It's just me." Fingers brushed her hair. "Just your Chat. Please don't do that."

Her kitty? Where – where had he gone? It was so hard to think with the Prince so close. Hadn't she vowed to be faithful? But Gods, how could she be expected to resist _Him_? Chat would understand. She'd explain it later.

The Prince's strong arms wrapped around her and she nearly died of joy when His lips brushed her ear. Her knees buckled when he whispered sweet words.

" _Forget this night. And sleep_."

* * *

 _For true love's kiss breaks any curse._


	14. Chapter 14

_Once upon a time there lived a young girl behind a great wall._

 _For hundreds of years the enormous fortification had served as a shield against the savages outside her prosperous realm. Yet just as the girl turned of marriageable age, a horde broke through and threatened to engulf her peaceful homeland in war._

 _Her ailing father, the only male in her family, was called to defend his emperor's crown. The man's spirit was strong, but his body was not, so the girl made the fateful decision to steal his armor and his sword, going to war in his stead._

 _The family's ancestral spirits watched her leave with great trepidation and decided to send her the aid of a lucky cricket. Thus armed, the girl went on to defeat the leader of the savages, single-handedly saving the Emperor._

 _The mighty ruler bowed to her in respect, for she had a noble spirit seen only once per generation._

* * *

His eyes were blue, and the world was dull.

Adrien curled up in bed as silence descended over the castle, his human hearing picking up none of the bustle going on outside his room's doors even at this late hour. As the silver sliver rose in the dark sky, the ring darkened until it was pitch black, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He didn't hesitate to slip it back on his finger, taking Misfortune's essence into himself a second time, welcoming the corruption. What good was humanity? He much preferred being a cat.

 _Her_ cat.

* * *

"There you are, kitty."

He paused on the threshold to her balcony's door, his tail flicking.

"Marinette." His green gaze was as apprehensive as his tone.

"You're late," she chided him. "You promised me my gift three days ago and then you just stop visiting."

Chat Noir exhaled in what almost appeared to be relief and pushed himself to stand on two legs. "You cannot rush perfection."

"Do my ears deceive me or did you just refrain from saying purr-fection?"

He smiled at her, but it was strained. Marinette sat up straight, holding out her hand to crook her finger. Obediently, he came to her side, and she scratched him behind his twitching ear.

"Are you well, Chat?" She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I… I admit your absence had me worried. My nights are not as fun without you to keep me company."

Chat Noir said nothing, pressing his cheek into her palm. She half-expected a purr, but the silence was only broken by the jingle of coins. He pulled a heavy cloth bag from his belt and set it down on her bed.

"First, to repay you. With interest." For a moment, he seemed tempted to brush his lips against her palm, but then he refrained. Chivalrous. Her noble kitty respected her refusal. "And to ensure you will never fall on times hard enough to be forced to trade my true gift for coin."

Just how much was in there? The prospect of wealth should excite her, but she was only growing more disquieted at his subdued mood. "Chat?"

He crawled onto the bed next to her and brushed away her long black hair, tucking it behind her ear to reveal her neck. Then he used that magic of his to manifest a small black box in his palm and opened it.

Marinette's lips parted as she took in the size of the ruby pendant, flanked by two earrings studded with matching jewels.

"How did you know red is my favorite color?"

Chat's smile was wistful. "It appears in over half your designs. Yes, I snooped through them while you slept. Curiosity, cat, you know how it is." His claw hooked the silver chain, raising the necklace. "May I?"

She nodded, and his fingertips brushed her bare nape. Marinette's body thrummed with awareness of how close he was as he gently placed the pendant. The silver chain clicked shut with a barely audible clunk, but there was a finality to it.

"Will you wear my gift in the years to come?" he whispered in her ear, his mouth so close she could feel his breath.

The pendant was far too ostentatious, would invite envious eyes, but – "The necklace I'll save for special occasions, but the earrings are so lovely, I think they'll be my favorite pair."

"I'm glad you like them. Wear them and think of me when I am gone."

Restless, she leaned back and he startled. But then his arms closed around her in a tight embrace. " _When_ you're gone?" she murmured. "Do you mean during the day?"

"No." He squeezed her so hard it almost hurt. "My reign as Lord of Night is over. I shan't visit you again after this, Marinette."

She whirled around, voice like the crack of a whip. " _What?_ "

He flinched, his ears drooping as he averted his gaze. "I thought – I am glad to have met you, Marinette. I am. You are…" He trailed off, then started over. "I thought I'd be able to bear it, this half-life. That having a taste of what I'm missing would be enough, but it's not. It only makes me crave what I can't have. I've never hated my days more than I do now, and – I can't. I just can't keep doing this."

"You're leaving me?" Her voice was faint, echoing in her ears as if from a great distance.

"I'm going back to what I was before. I…" He trailed off again. "I do not regret meeting you. Not for one moment. Meeting you has changed me, and I will treasure these memories. But being near you now – I will make you less, Marinette. You will debase yourself for me, and I don't want that. You deserve that warm hearth and the husband who will take a walk with you under the noon sun."

"Isn't that for me to decide, kitty?" That was anger growing inside her, anger born of certainty. What did she need the sun for when she had the moon? "My sacrifices are my own to make."

"And so are mine. Goodbye, my sweet Lady. If I could make you my Princess, I would."

With a swish of his tail and a silent leap, her black cat was gone, returned to the night from whence he came.

* * *

Marinette woke to a damp pillow and her best friend hammering at her door.

She tried to summon a happy smile when Alya told her of her nightly adventure and the curse she'd broken.

"–can't wait for you to meet him, he is the sweetest man on earth. And so clever and witty and we make each other laugh and–" Alya coughed into her fist. "I mean. He's nice. We'll see where it goes."

"The altar, I'm pretty sure," Marinette said dryly, and her friend _giggled_. Giggled. Alya never giggled, she was above such thing.

"Well, there _might_ be a chance that it's True Love."

"You are fortunate. People go their entire life without meeting their other half." Her mother had paid a steep price to find hers. Marinette's mood darkened at the reminder, and she quickly changed the subject. "So who cast the curse?"

Alya grew quiet and thoughtful. "He wouldn't say. But really, we didn't much talk about it, he was so glad to be free and put it behind him." She grinned, absently twining a red curl around one of her fingers. "To be quite honest, he was rather overwhelmed with the return of his feelings and desires and such. We didn't do much talking at all."

"I'm so happy for you, Alya," Marinette said, and meant it.

"Thank you." Her friend beamed. "So do you mind if I stay the night?"

Marinette tilted her head in confusion. "Of course not, but… why?" Nights were the perfect time for Alya to meet her new beau.

"I need to borrow that balcony of yours since I have a Black Cat to thank for a push in the right direction."

"W-what did he do?"

"He showed me how to gain entry to the palace and told me the name of Nino's curse." Alya shook her head. "Dark creature or not, without that cat-man-beast, I would have just written my True Love off as another man who failed to keep his end of a bargain."

That was when Marinette could not keep the tears at bay any longer.

* * *

Adrien ran his thumb along the silver ring, gazing around the room and wondering where to put it. It had to be somewhere safe, somewhere no one would find it and unwittingly put it on. Destroying it was out of the question. He was grateful that the kiss had not shattered it.

The prince had feared he wouldn't get the chance to say goodbye.

"Putting it aside already?" The black cat jumped on the nightstand and examined him with a critical eye. "Just remember, you still owe me my cheese even if you never use it again."

"I know. Thank you for this gift, Misfortune. My compliments to you, you really know how to turn a wish into a double-edged sword."

"Hm." The black ears flattened. "You say that as if I did it on purpose. I did not grant your wish with malice."

"I know. It's your nature. You can't help it, just like I can't help enslaving those around me." The prince smiled thinly. "There will always be cheese waiting for you in my castle, I'll make sure of it. You don't have to come and ask me in person, just take it from the kitchens."

The cat's tail lashed. "But I prefer getting it directly from you. Adrien."

* * *

Marinette's fingers traced the edges of the little black box, fingertips following the intricate red pattern.

The Lucky Charm was her mother's family's most well-kept secret. Whenever a girl was born, sooner or later it appeared beside her, manifesting in her crib out of thin air. Its appearance was unique to each girl, though it was always a container of some sort. How the family blessing came to be was a mystery lost to time, but one thing was assured – as long as the girl kept her sealed Lucky Charm close to her heart and home, good fortune would surely find her all her life.

Cheng women never died in childbirth.

But Marinette's mother had.

Her mother had opened her Lucky Charm to ask the spirit who bestowed it for a favor, trading in her life's good fortune for another blessing. Marinette had often marveled at her mother's courage, to cross a continent without the aid of luck, all to find a boy in a remote village on the other side of the world.

Marinette was a mere seamstress, daughter of a baker. When people looked at her, they first saw the marks of foreign lands left on her face. And yes, there were nights were those looks got to her, all those poisonous whispers about not having a place in this realm drowning out her parents' soothing voices.

But she always got back to her feet, ready to face the new day, for in her veins ran the blood of the fiercest line of women the world had ever seen. And as long as she had her Lucky Charm, she, too, could count herself amongst those fierce women. Her ancestors. Her future. Her destiny.

So Marinette did her best to fight off her doubts. She looked forward, always forward, not paying heed to the misfortunes that befell her. Trusting in her mother's words, she believed with all her heart that luck would find her.

That was the source of the eternal wellspring of her hope. The certainty that her life would be good and prosperous and joyful.

But there was her cat.

Her beautiful black cat who so desperately longed to be human and had given up all hope of ever achieving it. Marinette could not leave him to suffer, to return to the existence he so dearly wished to escape.

With trembling hands, she opened the black box that was her Lucky Charm.

It was empty.

The ground rumbled and the box grew so hot to the touch she dropped it with a cry. It shattered on impact, every shard glowing bright red with otherworldly magic. They whirled and danced, caught in an invisible vortex until a yawning chasm opened before her. One by one, the shards slid into place, pulsing and growing, until they were big enough for her to place a foot upon. They formed an endless, winding staircase leading deep into the heart of the fae court. Marinette drew back her shoulders and gathered her courage.

Who was she without her luck?

A mere seamstress. And that would have to be enough. Chat Noir needed her.

Marinette took her first uncertain step to descend deep into a magical realm, ready to trade away her blessing. Surely her fairy godmother would know how to turn a black cat into a human.

* * *

 _The mighty ruler bowed to her in respect, for she had a noble spirit seen only once per generation._

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

This story now has covert art! Come check it out on my tumblr (username mini-minou) or on my Ao3 account(username miniminou).


	15. Chapter 15

Nino closed his eyes, tilting his head up to savor the warmth on his face. NeighSayer whickered softly and bumped his long muzzle against his dark hair, sending it into disarray with a sharp exhale of his breath.

The vicious stallion was as docile as a newborn foal and had been ever since he'd taken one look at Nino after the Akuma had woken from his nightmare.

Nino had always been one to savor the simple things in life, but memories of haunting emptiness made the mere act of gliding his fingers through the white steed's mane an almost ecstatic experience. For three days now he'd been near overwhelmed by the taste of bread and utterly felled by Alya's sweet kisses.

Life was good, and he would never take it for granted again.

Just one little thing was marring his happiness.

Though, in truth, it was no small thing at all. More like a heavy cloud of unresolved questions. The more Nino unraveled the mystery, the more he burned with the need to know. There was strange magic afoot in this castle. What was the cause?

Prince Adrien. He knew that much.

It was for the Prince's sake that he'd been cursed, and with the sudden clarity in his mind he even understood what for. It was eerie to watch the way the other servants spoke of him, the way they snapped to attention when someone said the prince's name. Had he been like that? He must have.

Nino remembered thinking that Prince Adrien was the greatest, wisest and kindest man to ever grace the earth. He'd been eagerly anticipating his liege's ascendance to the throne, had been thankful for every scrap of affection thrown his way. Like a dog.

Even his Alya, his clever, fierce Alya, smiled vacantly when he mentioned Adrien.

He should hate the man.

And yet…

Nino made his way to the kitchen to fetch sugar cubes. So far, he'd been able to evade the Prince's presence, afraid that if he came near, he'd only be ensnared again. Not that avoiding him had been some great feat requiring skilled subterfuge.

In the three days Nino had been awake, Adrien had not left his chambers once.

And the palace staff was becoming frantic at having displeased their beloved prince.

"Do you think he's ill?" The maid's voice was low and Nino slowed his steps to listen in.

Before his curse, he couldn't go anywhere without being greeted by a chorus of happy voices, but now people ignored him, their gazes sliding right off. Nino had once done the same to the other Akuma, only abstractly aware that they were _there_ yet somehow never paying attention to them.

Though once he drew attention to himself, people did start noticing him again.

"Don't be daft, girl," the cook hissed. "The prince does not get sick, he is in perfect health."

A chorus of agreement from the rest of the staff, with some repeated mutterings of _perfect_.

"But his supper keeps getting brought back untouched."

"He's been eating the cheese he keeps requesting," said a servant boy. "So his appetite must be alright."

"Perhaps he is just busy," another servant said. "Working to secure the peace, lost in correspondence and important treatises."

This prompted another chorus of agreement.

"Aye, he works so hard for his people."

"We are so fortunate to have him." A dreamy sigh.

"Yet there's no outgoing letters…"

Hostile eyes turned to the dissident and the footman defensively raised his palms.

"B-but maybe he is just making sure the correspondence is perfect before he sends it! Peacemaking is such delicate business."

"You're being ridiculous. The prince's correspondence is perfect even on first draft. Have you seen his beautiful handwriting? Oh, it's like art, I tell you. Makes me wish I could read."

The voices faded as Nino collected the sugar cubes and let the kitchen doors fall closed behind him.

Yes, Prince Adrien was working some kind of foul magic on the people around him, enslaving and enthralling them. For that alone, Nino should despise the man.

And yet.

His last memory of the prince was of him getting up, three bloody marks on his back, and turning to Nino with a brittle smile, politely thanking him. All the people of the castle might ignore the Akumas, but Adrien did not, always extending gentle courtesy.

And the first time Nino had faced the prince with a mind unaffected by his magic, the prince had wept, beautiful face twisted in ugly sobs before it had turned into even uglier anger. Nino had felt nothing at all when the mage had died right in front of him, but the memory stirred vindication now.

Hating the prince was proving rather difficult, even without an enthrallment addling his senses. All the same, Nino was in no hurry to lose his mind again after just having found it.

…but three days was a long time to not leave his chambers.

And the last time he'd seen Adrien, Nino had whipped him.

Never would he have suspected the kind of discipline the prince endured behind closed doors. The king had a reputation for being harsh and ruthless, but this – what Nino had witnessed as an Akuma was beyond the pale.

Someone really ought to check on the prince.

Nino sighed in resignation. Him. It was going to have to be him. The rest of the castle was too busy thinking of all the ways Prince Adrien could not possibly be in need of aid.

God, but he'd really enjoyed being able to think clearly.

His hand shook and he willed it to grow still. Then he knocked.

"Go away."

The muffled words washed over him like a tidal wave and Nino's knees nearly buckled under the force, so strong was the sudden urge to turn around and not look back.

But then it ebbed, and the waters grew still again.

Huh.

He pushed open the door to the prince's chambers and closed them behind. Adrien was curled up in bed, petting a black cat curled up next to him. Eyes ringed by dark circles met Nino's gaze, and the prince's shoulders slumped.

Then he instantly drew them back up, straightening his back into a regal pose and offering a kind if strained smile.

"Hello, Nino. Please leave any messages my father might have given you on the nightstand."

Nino hesitated. Right. He was assumed to be Akumatized.

"I'm not here on your father's behalf."

The prince tilted his head, absently scratching the black cat behind its ears.

"Is something the matter with NeighSayer, then?"

"No." Nino awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm, uh. How are you, Adrien? Your Grace. I mean."

Pale eyebrows drew together in confusion as the prince stared at him.

"…why do you ask, Nino?"

"Well, beg your pardon, your Grace." Nino paused. "You look like shit."

Silence descended as Adrien's eyes grew impossibly wide. Green. They were green again, though during Nino's curse, they'd looked blue for a while. How strange.

"Could you…" The prince swallowed heavily. "Could you repeat that for me, Nino?"

"I'd really rather not tempt punishment like that."

Adrien barked out a stunned laugh.

"When have I ever punished you for anything, Nino?"

Nino closed and opened his right hand, a long-faded scar on his palm tingling. Had that _not_ been punishment?

Slowly, the prince set the cat aside and drew himself to his full height. Then he started crossing the distance between them with the same caution Nino used to approach NeighSlayer when he was in one of his moods.

"I don't punish my friends, Nino," the prince whispered. "Ever."

"I'm your servant."

"Ah." Adrien's face twisted into a watery smile. "See, I like to play pretend. Can't – can't really be friends with anyone when everyone's so eager to bend the knee."

"I…see." And Nino did, a picture slowly taking shape.

"How did you – how are you – you're not an Akuma anymore, are you?"

"No."

"…I can't believe she really did it. _How?_ "

"Uh." He knew of Alya's efforts? "This is going to sound ridiculous, but True Love's Kiss."

Adrien barked out a laugh, and it was surprisingly bitter. "Of course. Yes. Heard that's going around." He nodded, his eyes wide and manic. "Listen, I – I am so, _so_ sorry for what happened. I never wanted – never mind. Intentions don't matter, I know that, the harm's the same. You can – would you like a title? Lands? A castle? Pretty sure there's some unaccounted-for castles in the land we just conquered just waiting to be claimed."

"...I'm a glorified stable boy, what would I do with a title and a castle?"

"I don't know. People want titles, don't they? Just – name whatever you want, and I'll give it to you. You don't have to stay here, I won't make you…" He trailed off. "You're free to go, and I'll give you as much gold as you can carry."

"Are you so eager to get rid of me, Adrien?"

"Don't need my father setting his sight on you again. If he orders you to his chambers, _say no_. By orders of the Prince." He sniffed. "I'm truly sorry for, well - everything."

"Oh, this is ridiculous," the black cat said. "Just kiss and make up already."

Nino stared.

"Did that cat just–?"

"Yes, this is Kwami. He's a dark fae. And a little shit."

"Careful, warlock. You amuse me so I indulge you, but remember that my power is–"

He did not get to finish the sentence for that was when the prince stuffed his mouth with cheese. Nino could not help but keep staring at the magical creature as it tried to swallow the chunk in one bite.

"Alya said a black cat helped her break my curse," he murmured, dazed.

The cat – Kwami? – finally defeated the cheese and burped. "You're welcome."

"Hey!" the prince cried out. "Don't take credit! You would have had him drop dead!"

" _What?"_

"Ah, Gods, that sounds worse than it is. See, it's like this, the Bound Oblivion–"

"My prince." Nino interrupted the nervous babbling, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have – I have a lot of questions for you." He took a deep breath and then offered the first friend he'd made in this new land a tentative smile. "How about we discuss them over supper? The grapevine says you haven't eaten in a while."

"I'd like that," Adrien whispered.

* * *

"No, really, you can touch, I don't mind."

Nino eyed the fluffy tail with something between fascination and muted horror.

"So. _This_ struck you as the best way to circumvent your blessing?"

Adrien nodded.

"…man, I can't believe I thought you were wise."

The beast that was his liege laughed, baring sharp teeth. "Don't knock it until you try it, horse master. This body is _fang-tastic_."

Nino groaned, burying his face in his hands to muffle his laughter.

Adrien's grin widened, but then it faded, his gaze growing thoughtful again. "Nino? Did – did it hurt a lot to become an Akuma?"

Nino fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not dwell–"

"There's someone else. Someone I desperately want to shield from my blessing."

"Don't," he said flatly. "It happened and I won't hold it against you, Adrien, but if you ever deliberately do this to anyone, I won't forgive you."

Adrien nodded, not looking the least bit surprised. "I figured as much. It's not – I don't ever want to cause her pain, so I don't think I could bear doing that to her." His tail flicked, the very tip wiggling back and forth. "Still, to know that immunity is possible without utter obliteration of all desires, it gives me hope that there are other ways to achieve it. And I will find one of them."

"You know," whispered Misfortune. "I'm always willing to bargain."

* * *

Chat Noir traced the steps of a familiar path and leapt to his beloved's balcony.

"Marinette…?" The hour was late, far later than his visits had ever been before, and he'd told her not to expect him again. But talking to Nino had given him strength, lifted that horrific veil cast over the world, the one that dulled all color and insidiously whispered that nothing could or would ever get better.

The door to her balcony was closed and he gently rapped his claws against it.

"Let me in, please."

 _Forgive your cat his moment of weakness._

But nothing stirred behind the curtains, the room remaining dark. Chat's ears pressed flat against his head in misery. Was he cast out for good? Or maybe she was asleep. Her senses were not as sharp as his, it was possible she hadn't heard him.

He hesitated for a long time, but then his need to see her won out. His claws sliced through the lock, and he pushed open the door.

Faint traces of her scent greeted her, but it was faded, like she hadn't been there in days. He bounded into the empty room, turning as if chasing his own tail, inspecting all corners for signs of her whereabouts. Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd last seen it.

Except for her shattered family heirloom lying in the center of the room.

* * *

 _If you ever descend into the fae's realm, do not let yourself be led astray._

Marinette placed one foot in front of the other, whimpering as the sharp spikes drove into the soles of her feet. Her shoes had long since fallen apart, but her feet healed within a heartbeat as soon as she lifted them off the nailbed.

All around the narrow path, flowers were in bloom, adorable creatures frolicking in the bright fields. Gods, how she wished to join them, if only just for a moment. Step off the path stained with red and rest for a moment. Give her feet some reprieve and savor the aroma of colorful petals.

Her step faltered as her mind seized on the idea. Yes, yes, she could just lie down right there, in the warm soil surrounded by friends. Take root and grow strong for the journey still ahead. Although – why leave at all? Such a lovely field this was, a tree would find a worthy home here.

Marinette drove the sole of her feet into the nails and bit back a cry.

The pain anchored her, sharpened her thoughts. A cat scampered past her, beckoning, but it was white and not as fluffy. She had a much better cat waiting for her at home. Although if she had her way, he would not stay a cat for much longer.

 _Chat_ , was her prayer when she walked through a howling blizzard.

 _Chat_ , was her refrain when she braced against the sweltering heat of a desert.

 _Chat_ , she thought when her strength at last gave out and she fell to her knees. _Chat, I tried._

Without her luck, Marinette was nothing, and she had broken her Lucky Charm wide open merely to begin this journey. Just an ordinary girl with an ordinary life, not strong enough to navigate the treacherous Underhill.

 _That smells like a lie to me, my Lady._

Bluebell eyes narrowed. Silly cat. What did he know?

 _You are far from ordinary in my eyes._

Sweet words meant to seduce her. And how it had worked, her wounded pride seizing on his admiration. What had he seen in her?

 _I trust you._

She'd told him that. Had it been a lie?

No.

Marinette pushed herself to her feet. Her kitten needed her, believed in her, thought himself unworthy of her – and feared dragging her down. He, too, was gripped by the dread that held her heart, and she would not give in. For the both of them, she would rise high, and lift him up with her.

"Sweet girl," an ethereal voice said and Marinette's head snapped up. "I know your bloodline."

The fae was magnificent, her red skin aglow and her long black dress fluttering around her like insect wings.

"Fairy godmother?"

The woman laughed, the sound clear as a bell. "To some. But you may call me Lady Luck."

Marinette swallowed heavily, steeling her voice. "I've come to trade my blessing,"

"What for?" Curiosity shone in the fae's eyes.

"There's – there's a black cat I know, and he longs for nothing more than to be human. Please grant his wish."

"You would trade your blessing for a gift not even for yourself?"

"He is important to me." Marinette's smile was weary, the bone-deep ache of exhaustion pounding in her limbs. "I benefit as much as he does."

"How curious. A human in love with a cat?"

"He's no ordinary cat."

"Indeed. And you're no ordinary girl." The fae clapped once and suddenly they were in a cozy little nook, winding bark forming the walls of a tranquil sanctuary. "Come. Sit. Rest." She swept her too-long arm in an inviting arc, gesturing to sliced fruits laid out on a table.

Marinette's mouth watered, and she swayed on the spot. But she shook her head.

 _Never accept a fae's offer of food. Once you take Underhill into yourself, you cannot leave it. Not until the last of your humanity has seeped away and you've become part of the court._

"I thank you for the generous offer," she said. "But I am eager to return to him. Please."

The fae pushed forward her bottom lip, pouting. "I know the cat of which you speak. He is a liar, do you know that?"

"So am I. I tell everyone I'm a widow. If he lied to me, it's for a good reason."

"Such trust." Lady Luck tapped a spindly finger against her chin. "Here's a small riddle for you, sweetling. How do you tame an ambitious heart's desire? If your answer pleases me, I shall grant you not one, but _two_ gifts."

Marinette closed her eyes as her exhausted mind considered the question.

"…you give it what it wants. Ambitious hearts grow bored with what they have."

The fae nodded. "Yes, quite right. They live for the battle, not the journey's end. Give them the world on a silver platter, and they'll turn it down in disgust. They forever long for that which they can't have." Her smile grew wily. "So who's to say your black cat won't turn away once he has his heart's desire?"

"He won't."

"So certain?"

"He won't. Chat loves me."

The fae's black gaze softened. "Yes, so he does. His ambition would have ruined the world but now his heart longs only for you." She steepled her fingers, rocking back and forth on her heels as her insect wings fluttered. "Twin gifts for you, then, to even the score. I can't give your cat another blessing, nor do I think he would want one from me. He belongs to Misfortune now."

"But–!"

"He is not as eager to be human as you think. Don't interrupt me, sweetling, it's rude. And I'm not nice to rude people."

Marinette closed her mouth.

Lady Luck nodded. "But you are still one of my Blessed Ones, Marinette, so I give to you my first gift – your birthright. I cannot give you what you so generously sacrificed it for, and your valor when faced with Underhill's might reminds me of the ancestor I first bestowed it upon."

The cold metal of Marinette's ruby earrings grew hot as fire and she cried out. The heat faded as quickly as it came.

"Now for the second gift. You have an indomitable will I admire. Though it might bend, it never breaks. So I shall strengthen it and grant you peace of mind. As long as you wear your new Lucky Charm, no magic, no matter how strong, shall fool your senses or confound your thoughts."

Her obsidian eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Last but not least, I give you a message for your black cat. Remember it well.

"Misery haunts the one who stole twin gifts from me, yet it's destined to depart when he does. I spoke two halves of a name that day. One half he will bear all his life, and so people shall forever think him charming. But the day the Prince is crowned a King, his blessing shall fade to a fraction of what it once was."


	16. Chapter 16

"And Alya has heard no word of her either?"

Nino's face pinched and he shook his head. "She's frantic with worry. Also, I think she may be planning a rescue mission."

"To _where_?"

"Well, she's just stocking up supplies for every eventuality. Though I don't know what she thinks a flute that's also a staff would ever be good for…"

"A flu–? You know what, I'm not even going to ask."

"Maybe you're wise after all, Your Grace."

Adrien gently shoved Nino's side and his horse master flashed a playful grin before they both sobered. Nobody had heard or seen Marinette in weeks, and the prince's methods were growing increasingly desperate. He was _this_ close to bargaining with Misfortune once more, and only the possibility of having the dark magic rebound on Marinette held him back.

"So, could we revisit the search by foot size…?"

"Adrien, no."

"But she has really dainty feet, much smaller than most people's, and we could narrow down the number of women she might be disguised as and–"

"Your Grace, it is the stupidest plan ever conceived. And if she's disguising herself, then she clearly doesn't want to be found."

An unhappy blend of a growl and a mewl rose in the back of his throat and Nino shot him a warning look. Like anyone noticed.

Besides.

Marinette running off to start a new life was much preferable to more violent alternatives. But surely Adrien's heart would have felt it if she was gone? No, he had to believe that she was safe and sound somewhere. He just had to _find_ her, ask forgiveness for abandoning her. And then never let her out of his sight again.

"Your Grace," a breathless servant whispered, approaching the pair in her deepest curtsy. "One of the seers you have called to court has arrived."

The prince blinked. Since he had no faith in prophecy, he'd been reluctant to consult seers until finally giving in last night. This one had answered the summons fast.

"He says he specializes in foretelling the whereabouts of–" She cleared her throat, a blush staining her cheeks as her slavishly devoted gaze focused on Adrien. "–of people's One True Love. And that he had a vision that you would have need of his services."

Nino and Adrien exchanged a glance. "Send him to the great hall."

The curtsy deepened. "Y-your Grace, he's a foreigner not familiar with the ways of court, I think. He walked off to the garrison and will not be moved."

Prince Adrien smiled at her, thanking her for delivering the message, even as impatience bid him to hurry. Her blush was now so dark her face resembled that of a ruby, and she withdrew by walking backwards, not straightening from her curtsy. Adrien stopped his lips from twitching when she bumped into the wall.

Nino watched the maid with a bemused expression. "I'm never going to get used to this. You know, Alix is normally a spitfire."

Adrien shrugged uncomfortably.

"Can't help it. Do me a favor and meet our new guest for me? See what he has to say. I'd rather avoid enthralling a prophet. They have a nasty habit of fixating on me and developing all sorts of visions of how we're meant to rule the world together."

* * *

When Nino walked along the heavily fortified walls of the castle, it did not take him long to spot the newcomer. Clad in robes entirely out of touch with the fashions of the realm, the small black-haired man was thoughtfully gazing up at one of the Akumas. Nino did not know his name, but the Akumatized knight was one of the biggest and strongest men he'd ever seen. No doubt he'd been chosen to serve for his brutish strength.

The fate of the Akuma still trapped in his personal nightmare had been sitting ill with Nino. He'd tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that they could not feel their own suffering, but that had been an inadequate bandage on a gaping wound.

Alya had shown him her research, and together they'd eagerly carried on trying to find a way to break the other Akumas free from the curse, too. While Nino had been taught to read, he was slow at it, and he could not help but stand in awe of how fast his love was able to devour the pages. Her mind and tongue were so delightfully sharp.

"Em, em, em," the seer was muttering to himself. "Michelle? Marjolaine?" His accent was thick, the common names garbled almost beyond recognition. Though his vowels flowed nearly as melodically as a native's now, Nino remembered well how this tongue's complex rhythm had vexed him at first.

"Seer," he greeted the man just as the prophet snapped his fingers and cried out, _"Mylene!"_

Nino blinked and gazed down at the old man half his size.

"This one," the seer said, and tapped the knight's armor. "A kiss from Mylene to free him. Yes."

Nino grew very still and the man turned to face him with a sly smile. Despite his small stature, he carried an aura of authority. "Vile magic at work in this place. Can't have these chains running through the courtyard, someone might trip."

"Mylene," Nino said softly, memorizing the name so that they might start searching for her, too. "You're here to save the Akumas?"

"Indeed I am."

Nino's lips split into a broad grin.

"What is your name, prophet? I think the prince will richly reward you for this."

The man rolled his thin mustache between his fingertips. "You may call me Master Fu. I'll take his reward but tell the prince I shall not come pay my respects to him. I like my mind too much to gamble it." He paused and hummed. "I also come bearing a message for a black cat searching for his lost love."

Nino straightened his back. "I can relay that message, too."

"Time passes differently in a fae's domain. When the moon is but a sliver in the sky and Misfortune at its weakest, it's Lady Luck who shines. Her court will brush up against the mortal world and the path will open once more. The cat shall find his Lady exactly where he last saw her."

* * *

Marinette bit back a shriek as her body was thrown into the heart of a storm, the strong currents tossing her like a leaf in the wind.

She hit the floor with a thud, and her fingers dug into the wooden floor at once, scrambling for a solid hold. A heaving retch tore from her throat. But her stomach was empty of tempting fae fruit, and so nothing at all came out.

"My Lady." The familiar voice was overflowing with relief and affection, strong hands wrapping around her waist to lift her up. Marinette kept her eyes squeezed shut for the room had not yet seized its very rude spinning.

"Chat," she whispered. "You came back." _And you have hands, not paws._

"I tried, but I could not stay away for long." With a few steps he carried her to gently set her down on threadbare sheets she recognized as her bed's. His weight dented the mattress as he sat down beside her, stroking her hair with his claws.

"I failed, too." Marinette sniffed. "I tried to find a way to turn you human for good, kitty, but she said no."

"Who?"

"My fairy godmother."

"Ah." He chuckled hoarsely. "You have one of those, too?"

"Yes. She gave me an overabundance of luck."

"And yet it was an ill omen who landed on your balcony."

She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms around him. He wore clothes tonight, and she was almost saddened. Her fingers itched to dig into warm fur.

"As I said. Lucky. Very, very lucky to have met you, Chat Noir. Don't you dare leave again, kitty, I will hunt you down." Marinette sniffed. "I know it's not ideal, but we can make this work. And – and you can stay the days, too. I don't know why you slink away to hide, I like your small self. And I'll be spared your puns when you're mute."

"You wound me, Marinette. Don't you love my wit?"

"In small doses."

"Then I have some _cat-astrophic_ news for you. I don't stop talking, ever. I figured out how to keep my tongue even on full moons."

"…forget I said anything. Shoo. Go."

Laughter rumbled in his chest, even as he seemed to choke back tears. "Marinette. I fear I have deceived you. Your fairy godmother said no because I'm not a cat and never have been."

She cracked open her eyes and focused on his face. But it was night, with no candles to illuminate her room, and so he was naught but a dark silhouette. Who was still _spinning_.

But–

"Kitty, where are your ears?"

"They'll grow back tomorrow night, I promise. See, I am – I'm a man. A man who turned himself into a cat, so he could talk to you."

Marinette blinked slowly.

"Chat Noir, that does not strike me as a sound strategy."

"It's – it's complicated. My true self, it's cursed, or blessed, or whatever you wish to call it. You can't look upon me during the day, not ever, or it will ensnare you, too. My only reprieve is at night when I wear furs."

Wrapping her fingers around his nape, Marinette yanked him close and pressed her lips to his. Alya had told her that True Love's Kiss was real, and Marinette's lover suffered from a curse. It was the sensible thing to do.

But he grew rigid and flinched back, biting out a foul word beneath his breath. Then he took a deep breath, awkwardly patting her hair. "Alright. Next time I'll lead by telling you that you have to keep your hands off me."

Marinette's brows drew together in confusion. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, slowly but surely, and she could make out more of his features. He was handsome, but her vain cat had always been – yet now there was no black fur obscuring it. Her gaze greedily traced the edge of his jaw, the regal sweep of his nose, those very, very tempting lips.

Lips he wanted to forbid her to kiss?

"Why?"

"Shhh, Marinette. Sleep now."

She tilted her head. "…did you just _shush_ me?"

Chat hissed in a sharp breath. "Marinette?"

"I'm not tired, I'm just dizzy. We still have much to talk about."

"…Marinette. What color are my eyes?"

What a strange question. Marinette squinted, trying to make out their hue. Most nights his eyes shone bright with that vivid green, but tonight they did not. "Green? I can't tell, kitty, it's dark and all looks grey. You're not doing that magical glow thing."

Those pretty eyes were growing wild, his breaths shallow.

"Marinette. _Sleep_."

She huffed. "I said no. Just give me a minute to get my bearings. I just traveled to a fae dimension, I'm allowed to be a bit disoriented."

That was when he kissed her, his desperate mouth on hers, seeking, devouring. After a few blissful moments of their lips entwined, she tasted salt.

"…Chat, are you crying?"

"Adrien," he whispered. "My name is Adrien, Marinette."

Oh, like the prince. There was scarcely a family in the realm who did not have a son named after their future king. Though Chat was on the older side. Most of the boys thus named had been born a few years after tales of the heir had started spreading through the land.

She brushed her hands through his golden hair and smiled. "Hello, Adrien."

He was shaking, his great arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Marinette. The Lord of Night promised to share his realm with you, but I lied. The night is not my domain, it's–"

"Shhh, kitty. I mean. _Adrien_. I've no need for riches, you know that."

Although he had given her riches, never lacking in wealth. She'd chalked it up to the magic of black cats, but if he was just a man, where _had_ he been getting all his gifts…?

Her eyes widened just as he bit out a laugh.

 _Oh Gods._

How could he – that wasn't possible, was it? How could her silly, sweet, _ridiculous_ kitten be _him_? He was – they were…

Both wonderful.

Oh.

No wonder the first sight of the prince had hit her so hard despite her initial skepticism. Her heart must have recognized her true love.

Prince Adrien cradled her face between his hands, his voice shaking. "Marinette. My Lady. How would you like to be my Princess?"

* * *

"You interfered with one of my Blessed, Misfortune."

The black cat yawned, dripping blackness on the ground as he pushed himself to stand. "He summoned me, hardly my fault."

"You could have declined to bargain."

"I'm a cat, Tikki. If you place a tasty treat in front of me, I will eat it, and no amount of finger wagging on your part can stop me. You have your nature and I have mine."

"Indeed." She gazed at the lovers as they fell into each other's arms, and then wiped the vision from the mirror. "You were very generous to the warlock. It's so unlike you."

"No, _he_ is unlike my summoners. I am eternal and unchanging."

"Hm. So it had nothing to do with earning my forgiveness for the mermaid?"

"Of course not. The moon might love the sun, but it would never alter its course for her."

Lady Luck sighed. Then she opened her arms to him and Plagg happily curled up in her lap.


	17. Chapter 17

**Epilogue**

 _Come, child, and let me tell you a tale as old as time, true as it can be._

 _Once there lived a handsome prince who was charming yet spoiled. Despite having all the riches a man could ever need, his blood thundered with lust for more. Against his wise father's counsel, the prince's greedy gaze turned toward his neighbors. He rode out on a white steed to conquer, his armies at his back._

 _Such was the devastation he rained upon the realms that an enchantress had no choice but to act. She came to his tent and offered him a blessing, pleading for peace. But the prince sneered at the gift and turned her away, vowing that he would not rest before all the world was his._

 _As punishment, she turned him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell upon him. The beast tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart._

 _She chained him with the impossible task of having to earn the true love of a pure soul, a kiss being the key to his salvation._

 _Fleeing back to his kingdom, the beast sought out his father to beg for help. The frail old man perished when he saw what had become of his son, doomed to never see his heir's true face again._

 _The beast wept terribly over the king's body. His pitiful cries drew the attention of a maiden. She was a sweet girl, and although his appearance frightened her, she dared approach him. Shuddering at the touch, she placed a comforting hand upon the beast's shoulder._

 _Struck by her beauty and kindness, the beast took her and imprisoned her in his castle. At night he came to her, the darkness hiding his ugliness. He offered her riches in exchange for her hand in marriage, reasoning that she had the pure soul he needed and that it was a wife's duty to love her husband._

 _But the girl was not swayed by greed and refused. Every night he came to her with more gifts, and every night she denied him, unyielding even in the face of his terrible rage._

 _During the day, she sang to herself, songs of hope and courage. Until one day, a man's sweet voice answered her from another cell. It was this voice she came to love, the one that sang of loss and sorrow, and he gave her the strength to endure._

 _They had long conversations through the walls, each eagerly telling the other what they would do once they were free._

 _He told of her fine things and finer company, those who had the power to draw the lines on the world's map. She told him of the simple life she longed for, of warmth and home and children, and he did not answer for three days. When he at last spoke again, he told her that he'd thought about what she'd said and that he, too, had begun dreaming of these things._

 _The beast's nightly visits did not stop, but his rage subsided._

 _Until one day, he sat down at her feet and offered his last gift – a humble blue rose plucked from the royal gardens. Then he unlocked her shackles and told her she was free to go, wishing her good fortune in finding a man worthy of her love._

 _The sweet gift and the voice untainted by rage stirred recognition within her. Closing her eyes to his monstrous form, the maiden placed a kiss upon his twisted lips._

 _When she opened them again, a handsome prince smiled at her, and they both rejoiced._

 _They were married as King and Queen before the moon had time to grow full. Their reign was long and peaceful, for her pure heart had tamed his ambitious one._

 _And they lived happily ever after._

* * *

 _Father,_

 _I have asked for a woman's hand in marriage. Her name is Marinette. I imagine your spies' whispers have already reached you by now, so let me be frank: Yes, she is common. No, I do not care. She is smart, brave and kind, and I'll have none other._

 _My decision is made, and you cannot dissuade me from it._

 _The wedding is in a fortnight. I would ask you to attend, but I know you shan't._

 _Signed,_

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm and Sword of the Moon_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _You have undoubtedly noticed by now that the Akumas' numbers are thinning. It's because I have found a way to release them from their chains. They are immune to my gift, and I've been richly compensating them for their troubles._

 _Nino is henceforth to be addressed with Lord Lahiffe._

 _Signed,_

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm and Sword of the Moon_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _I am a married man now. My Princess wishes to build an orphanage so I'm reallocating some funds from the war chest. It won't be needed now, after all, and I can think of no better use for it._

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm and Luck's Beloved_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _Is your silence supposed to intimidate me? I do not fear whatever it is you're plotting. I do not like being at odds with you but know that I will defend the peace I am building at all costs._

 _Adrien Agreste, First of His Name, Crown Prince of the Realm and Luck's Beloved_

* * *

 _Father,_

 _Please say something._

* * *

King Gabriel's funeral was a quiet affair.

He had only grown more reclusive with age and ill health, letters to the outside world dwindling to almost nothing. It had taken several days for the body to be discovered in his tower. Prince Adrien's voice did not waver when he gave his eulogy, a single tear streaking down his face. The sparse audience sighed in wonder at his quiet dignity, the way he was able to be strong for his people even when gripped by deepest sorrow.

When he left the podium, Princess Marinette took his hand in hers and squeezed. The people sighed at that, too. Half the realm was enamored with the romantic tale of the prince who'd fallen deeply in love with a commoner. The other half whispered that she was foreigner, spinning wild tales about a noble lady who had to flee her homelands. Rumor had it that they'd fallen in love when the kind and noble prince had given her sanctuary.

Either way, their beloved prince's taste was impeccable as always. She was a woman pure of heart, a compassionate soul, whose first act as princess of the realm had been to start building an orphanage in the capital. The people loved her almost as much as Prince Adrien. But only almost, for it was universally agreed upon that there was neither a man nor woman alive as great as he was.

At the coronation a few days later, they rose together as King and Queen, and the people cheered.

* * *

The great hall was filled with laughter and chatter, almost drowning out the lively music. Some of the ladies cried out when the dance called for them to be twirled by their partners. One pair stumbled, either unpracticed or already deep in their cups. But they merely laughed at their own clumsiness, seamlessly integrating themselves back in with the other dancers. At the other end of the grand table, a Lord slammed down a tankard of ale, wiping his mouth. When he spoke, his booming deep voice carried over the chaos.

"Have any of you ever heard the joke about the bear and the maiden fair…?"

The mere mention had the men around him howling with laughter.

Adrien swallowed heavily, his fists balling in his lap.

Everything was so _loud_.

Gentle fingers brushed his hip under the table, squeezing his thigh reassuringly. Her voice was gentle and so low he was certain only his sensitive ears could hear it. "Adrien?"

"People are celebrating," he said softly.

"Your coronation is worthy of celebration." Another gentle squeeze. "I know you're grieving, but…"

"That's not it."

Yes, there was that tight web constricting around his heart and throat, one that would likely take him years to detangle. Father had never written again past that night when Adrien had threatened civil war, withdrawing fully into his tower, evidently in a bid to drown himself in liquor.

And now he'd succeeded, Misfortune claiming its due at last.

For twenty years, his father had been Adrien's entire world, the only other mind he could truly converse with. They'd loved each other, hadn't they? In their own twisted way.

The tears snuck up on him sometimes, and Adrien didn't know what to do with them.

But it was not his late father who was causing the lump in his throat now.

He had never quite allowed himself to believe the message Marinette had brought him. Goading a man into killing his own father was just the sort of thing a fae might do for their own reasons and for all that she had blessed his beloved, Adrien was not inclined to trust Lady Luck.

He'd been content with his two precious people who saw him exactly as he was. And at night, the Black Cat sometimes visited Alya to get to know his best friend's wife and wife's best friend as well.

"People are _celebrating_ ," he repeated, more forcefully than he'd intended. "Nobody's looking at me. They're all busy having fun." Yes, everyone had turned to gaze upon them when he'd entered the ballroom with his lovely Princess – Queen – by his side, but once they'd paid their respects, the guests had _turned away_. There was no crushingly eerie silence as all their heads swiveled as one, following Adrien's movements.

"Oh." Understanding dawned in those warm blue eyes. Marinette smiled gently and leaned forward, tugging at his hand. "Would you care to join them? I've been practicing. I promise I won't stomp on your feet quite as much as before."

The corners of his lips twitched. "How could I resist an offer like that?"

"You can't." The woman who was his new family laughed softly, a faint blush on her cheeks. "I have it on good authority that I'm quite _purr_ -suasive."

* * *

Marinette sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, her temples throbbing. Night came early during the winters and trying to read by candlelight was giving her the most wicked headaches. But there was so much to learn! Even with Alya all but living in the royal library to help curate her studies, there was no end in sight in all the things a ruler needed to know to guide a realm to prosperity.

But she would not give up. Marinette might not have brought lands nor title to this marriage, but she was determined to be a boon to her husband all the same. He would not bear the weight of leadership by himself.

Still.

Neither of them would benefit from her ruining her eyesight. Gently closing the book outlining the tumultuous history of their eastern border, she walked to her nightstand and set down the delicate crown studded with rubies. Brushing her fingers through her hair, she unwound her braid and smiled at her reflection.

Her smile widened when the mirror revealed a dark figure perched on the marble balcony behind her, silhouette illuminated by moonlight.

"Oh no," she whispered. "A terrible beast has come to devour me."

Chat Noir grinned wide and pounced onto their shared marriage bed. The vain and beautiful creature crouched on all fours and puffed out his bare chest, his tail swishing playfully.

"Pet me, woman."

Marinette hid her grin as she turned around to cross the opulent room. Sitting down beside him, she reached to scratch her husband behind his ears.

"How go the negotiations, my King?"

He huffed out a breath and crawled into her lap like the big kitten he was. "General Bourgeoise is a staunch ally, but he keeps antagonizing the very people we are supposed to be persuading. How am I supposed to be _charming_ with him sabotaging me? But let's not speak of it. King Adrien's not here."

Marinette stifled her laughter as she gently stroked his fur and a deep, rumbling purr filled their chambers.

"Oh, isn't he? Then it's good you are, kitten, I've been meaning to complain about him."

One green eye cracked open. "You would gossip about _purr-_ fection behind his back?"

"He's hardly perfect. Why, he demands to cuddle with me all hours of the day."

"My heart breaks for you, my sweet Lady. Fate is capricious to have given you such a tyrant for a husband. Just say the word and I shall free you from his clutches."

"Alas, I love him."

"Lucky man, to have a wife such as you."

Sighing happily, he turned his head to press his sensitive ear against her increasing belly. While all the land prayed to the Gods that her firstborn would be a son to secure the line of succession, she knew the king secretly wished for a girl as fortunate as the queen.

Chat Noir still visited her often, usually on nights following days when the crown grew particularly heavy. Marinette was more than willing to curl up with him when he needed it.

Her poor black cat suffered from a terrible curse, doomed to never know the sun's warm light nor True Love's Kiss. So she did everything in her power to ease his burdens.

Thankfully, a True Love's Kiss was quite stringent in its requirements.

"No, I'm quite certain I'm the lucky one, not he."

Marinette's lips brushed the tip of his twitching ears, moving to his jaw and his neck, careful to never touch his mouth. After all, there were so many other interesting spots for her to shower in love and affection.

* * *

 _And they lived happily ever after._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thank you all for going on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

A special thanks to all of you who took the time to leave a comment. Your feedback, both kind and constructive, your speculation, your exquisite flailing - it all means the world to me.

I've had a lot of fun playing with a fairytale setting - so much so that I am not quite ready to say goodbye yet. This sunday I'll be posting the first chapter of **Iron Kissed** , a standalone spin-off exploring one of the fairytales I've used to frame this story. I hope you'll join me on that journey, too.


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